Give You the Sun
by Bundibird
Summary: The kid's only three and his whole world has just been torn to pieces, and Dean's hardly just gonna dump him on Child Protection Services' doorstep. How hard can raising a three year old be, anyway? Pre-series. Rather fluffy.
1. Chapter 1

_..._

_Give You the Sun_

_Chapter One_

_..._

The kid – James – is just three. Dean knows cause when he asks, the kid stares up at him seriously like it's the world's most important secret and holds up three grubby little fingers – two on one hand and one on the other.

There's no one for the boy to go to now. Dean knows _that_ too. He'd guessed it was a poltergeist from the newspaper report on James' dad, but he hadn't gotten there in time to stop it from getting the kid's mum or his big sister Sarah. He'd barely gotten there in time to save James, though to the kid's credit, he doesn't cry out even once as Dean wraps up the cut on his arm; just watches him with big bright green eyes that make Dean feel like he's being weighed and measured.

He checks for aunts or uncles or grandparents or godparents or anything of the like when they get back to his motel room, and he comes up empty. The kid has no one (just like you, says a voice in the back of Dean's head, but he shoves it back into a little corner of his brain and tries not to think of Sammy being normal and Dad being a solo-hunter).

And yeah, there's Child Protection Services. But considering all the close calls they had with that damn agency when they were growing up (and the one time the suited men actually got a hold of them and it was a week before John was able to track them down and bust them out and make a break for it), Dean's not exactly a fan. Besides, he's seen enough movies that show what happens to kids in CPS, and he can't let that happen to James – not when he just risked his own life to save the kid and not when the boy's world has only just been torn apart and burnt to ash.

So where does that leave him? With a three year old kid who's not talking (Dean doesn't think he'd talk either, if he'd seen the things James has, so he hardly holds that against the young boy) and who has no where and no one to go to.

He knows what Dad would say if he were here. "He's not your problem Dean – let someone else deal with him." But, well, he kind of _is _Dean's problem, since right at this moment he's sleeping in Dean's lap.

And Sam too – Sam would be the voice of reason in this situation. "What are you gonna do, Dean, leave him at the motel while you go off on hunts, like Dad did with us?"

But Dad's off somewhere hunting on his own and Sammy's off playing College Boy, so neither of them are here to give their opinions and this is up to Dean. And, well, maybe he'll just take a break from hunting for a while. Just until the kid's settled a bit – recovered, both from his injuries and the trauma of loosing his family the way he did.

And then... maybe Dean will find a family to adopt James. Yeah. There's heaps of couples out there who want kids but can't have them, right? Well, Dean will just find one of those, and they can raise the kid.

They'll have to pass his tests, obviously.

He'll have his EMF reader in his pocket and he'll somehow get them to touch some silver, just to make sure there's nothing less-than-normal going on there.

And they'll have to be nice, and absolutely adore the kid, cause Dean's not gonna give him to just anyone who might not appreciate him, or who might have some kind of anger problem.

And they'll have to be solid, because Dean knows from experience how sucky growing up with just one parent can be, and he won't do that to James if he suspects the couple won't go the distance.

And they'll have to be at least vaguely well off, because another thing Dean knows is how much not having money sucks, and considering his already sucky start to life James at least deserves a decent education and the chance to go to College if he wants.

Yeah. That was what he'll do. Find a nice young couple that passes his list of requirements and let James stay with them.

Course of action decided, Dean wonders for a moment why the thought makes him feel a little lonely.

He doesn't get the chance to investigate the feeling though, because at that moment James shifts a little where he's tucked up against Dean (he'd crawled from the bed Dean had put him in up onto the couch and into Dean's lap, and Dean – somewhat startled and really quite unsure – had gone still and kind of just let it happen, and then James was asleep with his hands fisted in Dean's shirt and his head tucked into Dean's neck, and Dean had been stuck like that ever since). The kid lets out this frightened little whimper, and Dean clicks automatically back into big-brother mode like he never left it (like _Sam_ never left _him_).

"Hey, little man, it's alright," Dean says, bringing one hand up to rest on the kid's dark tousled hair and the other to rub soothing circles on the boy's back.

James squirms frightfully and whimpers, not in reaction to the touch but in reaction to whatever nightmare is plaguing his sleep. Dean doesn't have to think too hard to guess what it's about.

"Shhh," he soothes, tightening his hold on the boy without even thinking about it and murmuring comfortingly into his ear. "I've got you. Hey – it's ok. You're safe."

James whimpers again and then draws back a little, and Dean follows the kid's lead, pulling back until he can see him – eyes bright with unshed tears – blinking at him like he isn't quite sure where he is or what's happening.

"Hey, you," Dean says quietly, mouth quirking in a comforting smile once he sees recognition cross the boy's features. "Bad dream?"

James nods solemnly.

"It's ok. It was just a nightmare. You're safe."

James looks decidedly unconvinced by that statement.

"Do you want to go back to sleep?"

A flash of fear crosses the kid's face and he shakes his head strongly.

"That's ok," Dean says comfortingly. "You don't have to. You wanna watch some TV with me?"

James thinks about that for a long moment, then blinks and turns around in Dean's hold until he's facing the television, curled into the hunter like a puppy.

When Dean removes one hand to reach for the control to hunt for something kid-friendly, James makes a frightened sound of protest.

"Hey, it's alright," Dean soothes, bringing his arm back to wrap around the kid as soon as he's got the remote. "I'm not goin' anywhere. You're safe."

The boy seems happy with that statement, and he sinks further into Dean as the hunter starts channel surfing, eventually settling on some music video station that's playing stuff from a bygone era.

They sit in silence watching grainy old music clips for maybe fifteen minutes before Dean looks down to see James sleeping soundly, snuggled close against him and with one tiny hand curled around Dean's wrist, keeping his arm in place.

Dean's lips quirk in a sad smile at the sight.

The kid lost everything only a few hours ago and now his only comfort in the world is a lonely twenty-two year old who never finished school and who knows more about chicks and cars than he does about kids.

Dean blinks as he realises that they're actually quite similar, he and James, only after his world had been destroyed he at least still had Dad and Sammy. This kid doesn't even have that, and all because Dean was too late getting there to save the rest of his family.

"I'll make sure you're looked after," he promises the sleeping boy in his arms, his voice quiet and soothing. "I swear."

-:-

"So I've got this friend Bobby," Dean says the next day around a mouthful of bacon. "He's got a big ol' house, and a huge yard too. Has a tyre swing and everything. Whatd'ya say we visit him?"

James says nothing – just looks at him silently with a bit of pancake wilting in his fingers, the maple syrup dripping slowly – but Dean is quickly learning how to read the boy's version of silent communication and decides that he reads disinterested agreeance in James' face.

Really, Dean figures that where to go next is probably last on the kid's personal list of concerns.

They'd come to the diner after Dean had woken up that morning to a pair of solemnly inquisitive eyes staring at him steadily, the gaze remaining unbroken even as the boy's stomach gave a muted rumble that announced it's emptiness.

They'd packed up and shipped out of the motel room pretty soon after that and hit the road, Dean with his duffle and the kid with nothing but the clothes he'd been wearing when Dean had carried him out of the house the night before, and Dean had tried not to think about the fact that with every inch they drove he was taking James further and further away from what had once been a full and happy life.

They'd pulled into the first diner they passed, and Dean had hunted around in his duffle until he found a zip-up jacket that he'd helped James into. It was huge on the kid, and Dean had to fold the sleeves up practically three quarters of the way (and even then the edges were hanging over James' hands, bound to drag into every bit of dirt available), and the body of it hung down past the boy's knees, but it covered the clothes that had been torn and a bit bloodied the night before.

If anyone asked, the hunter would just say that James had gotten into a mud puddle and Dean had forgotten to bring a change of clothes.

Now, watching James pick his way unenthusiastically through his pancakes, Dean winces a little as his sleeves keep falling into the plate. They're dark with syrup already, and though Dean couldn't care less about the state of the jacket (he can hardly be averse to getting his clothes dirty, not in his line of work), he's a bit concerned about where all that stickiness will go when they get back in the car.

"Ok, so we'll go to Bobby's," Dean decides, scooping some fallen egg back onto his toast and preparing to cram it in his mouth. "But first, we're gonna go get you some more clothes. As much as my jacket on you attracts the ladies, we won't be able to get away with you wearing my stuff for long."

And it's true – as they'd entered the diner a pair of young women having breakfast outside had crooned to each other about how cute the little boy in his daddy's jacket was, and the waitress who'd met them at the door had fussed over him while he and Dean were guided to a table.

"And some toys too, ok?" Dean says, thinking about the long trip to Bobby's and wondering how on earth he's going to entertain a three year old that whole way. "What about action men. D'you like action men?"

James looks down at his plate and fiddles a bit more with his soggy pancakes.

"So that's a no," Dean correctly interprets. "What about drawing? Do you like drawing?"

James doesn't look up, and Dean decides to just work it out later.

"It's ok," he says, spotting the waitress from earlier making her way over to them again. "We'll go to a toy store and you can pick out what you like, ok?"

James looks up at him at that, a yes in his eyes even if it's nowhere else, and then he puts another piece of mangled pancake in his mouth.

"Hey cutie, how're you doing?" the waitress says, arriving at their table with a huge smile and Dean's second coffee, and Dean's instinctive reaction is to shoot her a grin and say, "Hey, yourself," but he catches himself just in time and instead looks down as James burrows into his side, peeking out at the smiling waitress from behind the folds of Dean's jacket.

"He's a bit shy," Dean says, smiling apologetically and dropping his arm absentmindedly around James' shoulders, but the waitress doesn't seem to mind in the slightest.

"He's such a sweetie," she croons, straightening and smiling that smile that women always get when faced with an adorable child. "You look just like your Daddy."

"Oh, he's not mine," Dean corrects, the words slipping from his tongue like they were planned out. "But I'm raising him."

And then he pauses, because, wait – what?

That's... not what he was supposed to say.

He was supposed to come up with some lie – something like, "No – he's my nephew. I'm giving his parents a break and looking after him for the day," or something equally as vague and misleading.

But what he's just said is not even close to anything like that.

The most surprising part though – the thing that hits him with sudden and startling clarity – is that what he's just said to the waitress is… the absolute total truth.

And doesn't that just come as a shock.

He's not going to give James up – who was he ever kidding?

Sure, it might have taken him a while to realise it – he likely would have gone through the process time and time again of meeting with prospective families before scrapping them as unsuitable until finally coming to the conclusion that no one would ever be good enough for the little boy.

And yeah, he only just met him yesterday. But he ran out of a burning building with the kid in his arms, and that's way too much like what happened with Sammy for a protective instinct _not_ to have been formed in the hunter, and besides that, it's starkly clear that James is attached to him already, and judging by the warm fuzzy feeling Dean gets in his stomach each time James snuggles into him, he's pretty attached to the kid as well.

And yes, he's a hunter, and he was raised by one too.

But all that means is that he knows what _not_ to do. He won't make the same mistakes his father made.

He's got no idea when it was exactly that he decided all of this, but he suspects it might have been a while ago and he's only just realising it now.

The shock is enough that it takes him a moment to realise that the waitress is speaking again, and something in the tone of his answer must have signalled to her that there was a bit more to the story.

"His parents?" she asks hesitantly, like she knows she doesn't want to know the answer.

Dean grimaces a little and shakes his head, and her expression dissolves into one of devastated sympathy.

"Oh, _sweetie,"_ she says to James, who's still watching her from behind Dean's jacket, and she rushes off for a moment before returning with a chocolate muffin that's bigger than Dean's fist, on the house.

They finish up at the diner not long later, and Dean drops some cash on the table and takes James into the bathroom to clean him up as best he can before putting the maple-syruped child back into his car.

It's a lost cause, and Dean sighs a little at the smears of syrup that are covering the sleeves of the once clean jacket and simply carries James out to the Impala, tosses the dirty jacket into the back seat and fishes out another one, which tents the kid even worse than the last one.

They drive for an hour or so, heading in the general direction of Bobby's place, and the whole time James stays silently curled into Dean's side, and Dean keeps one arm draped over the kid's back whenever he doesn't need both hands for driving.

He drives extra carefully (and he's always careful anyway, because he never wants anything to even come close to _breathing_ wrong on his car), because while James _is_ strapped in, it's an adult seatbelt he's wearing and that's gonna do more harm than good to the small boy in the event of an accident.

Finally, Dean sees an exit that leads to a city big enough that it's likely to have a mall, or a shopping strip at the very least.

Twenty minutes later they're parked at this ridiculously huge shopping complex, and James is sitting on Dean's hip with his head tucked into the hunter's shoulder as Dean moseys on in there like he actually knows what he's doing.

He's got no clue, really.

Malls are hardly Dean's most familiar stomping grounds even on the best of days, and he doesn't think he's ever actually been into one to buy clothes (mostly, when he goes into a mall it's to see a movie, or occasionally because it can be a pretty good place to pick up chicks – he tends to buy his clothes from second-hand places, even now that he's on his own and could probably afford some brand new stuff).

He's certainly never been to a mall to go shopping for kid supplies. And James is no particular help – he simply sits on Dean's hip and watches the other shoppers with quiet watchful eyes while the hunter struggles through his first ever kid-clothes shopping venture.

He's standing in the middle of the kids section of some big department store, probably looking just as lost as he feels when a store clerk decides to help him out.

"Would you like some help, sir?" she asks politely, and Dean's so relieved that he forgets to hit on her. It probably wouldn't have gone down particularly well anyway, since he's got a three year old clinging to him and most chicks aren't particularly into dads, and that's what Dean looks like right now.

The girl – a blonde, Dean notices belatedly, and probably around the 19-to-22-year mark (perfectly his type if he weren't a little preoccupied at the moment) – leads Dean around and shows him first to the three-to-five-year-old boys clothing section (where Dean grabs anything that looks around about James' size) and then to the isles with the car-seats, where she guides him through which would be the best one to buy considering James' age and the type of car it will be going into. Finally, she sets off to lead him to the toy department, and glances back over her shoulder as she goes.

"You're pretty new to this, huh?" she says, smiling.

Dean huffs a laugh. "Yeah. Pretty new," he agrees. Like, yesterday new. "It's that obvious, huh?"

"Well, most Dads don't know their way around a department store at the best of times," she says, one of her cheeks dimpling as she grins, "but you had this whole new level of deer-in-the-headlights that kind of singled you out. Is his Mom working today or something – is that why you got landed with the shopping trip?"

"Ah, no," he says, clearing his throat a little. "No – she's ah… she's not around."

The girl's mouth makes a little 'o' as she realises she's just stepped in it good and proper. She's probably thinking that he got some chick pregnant as has now been landed with the kid, and she's rather a bit mortified at her tactlessness.

"Oh – I… I'm really sorry," she says, and she sounds really quite embarrassed. "I just… speak before I think. It wasn't any of my business – "

"Don' worry about it," Dean says casually as she starts to get herself more and more worked up over not much at all. "You were just makin' conversation."

She sends a little smile at him, and then gestures awkwardly to the isle beside her.

"Well, ah, this is the toy department. This isle here and the one next to it has the three-to-five-year-old toys, and there's two isles of plushies down towards the end. I'll, ah… leave you to it."

She darts off, still embarrassed, and Dean shrugs to himself and parks his trolley full of clothes and a child-seat (he honestly never thought he'd see the day where he'd be pushing a trolley down an isle with one hand and holding a kid with the other, and damn does that trolley-kid business take some serious coordination) and lifts James down to the ground.

"Ok," he says, squatting down next to the kid as James fists his hands in the leg of Dean's jeans. "This is your forte, bud. I don't know what kinda toys you like, so you're gonna have to help me out, ok? You can hold my hand," he tacks on at the end, holding his hand out, because James looks reluctant to let go of Dean's jeans.

The kid blinks up at him and silently slides his tiny hand into Dean's much larger one, and the hunter sends him an affectionate grin that makes a young mother a few metres away melt a little at the sight.

Dean takes the lead, stooping over to the right a little to accommodate the little boy holding his hand, and they set off down the toy isle.

"You pick anything you want, ok?" Dean says, gesturing with his free hand to the range of toys around them. "It's a bit of a drive to Bobby's place, so we'll grab a few things."

James spots something he likes and quietly makes a beeline for it, pulling Dean along with him, and points to the brightly coloured Playdoh set.

"Playdoh, huh?" Dean says, making sure to keep his voice cheery, thinking woefully about his car. "Ok then, Playdoh it is. Hey - what'd'ya say we keep it for when we're in the motels though, yeah? Don't wanna loose any under the car seats, do we?"

Ok, so that's not at all why he doesn't want the kid playing with Playdoh in the Impala. Whatever. Original leather, man.

The Playdoh goes into the trolley and is joined shortly by a colouring set that Dean spots a minute or so later, and then by a bright green and white keyboard that James pulls off the shelves that plays a different melody for each key pressed.

"Wonder if this thing's got headphones," Dean mutters to himself as a tinny rendition of _Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star _plays itself out after James hits one of the keys.

They grab a few more things from that isle – both things that James chooses and things that Dean spots that he reckons the kid might like – and then make their way to the stuffed toy isle, where Dean is very nearly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of fluffiness.

There are stuffed animals of every possible species and colour ("Huh," Dean says at one point, holding up a pony for inspection. "Didn't know horses came in pink…"), and James eventually pulls out a bright orange-and-black tiger and a white-and-grey wolf.

"You want both of them?" Dean asks, squatting down to James' level as the kid carefully studies both animals. The boy's gaze drops away for a moment before returning to Dean, and then he presses the wolf into Dean's free hand.

"Just this one?" Dean asks, but James hugs the tiger a little closer to himself.

"This one's for me?" Dean guesses, holding the wolf up, and James blinks a yes at him.

Dean's lips quirk in a smile.

"Thanks, bud," he says. "Now what'd'ya say we get you out of my jacket and into some proper clothes, then we'll grab some food and hit the road, ok?"

James makes no motion of protest and so Dean drops his wolf into the trolley and picks James – who keeps a firm hold on his tiger – up and they head towards the pay station.

"Thank you, Nick Mason*," Dean mutters to himself a short while later, pocketing his credit card and pushing the trolley full of bags out of the department store and heading towards the nearest bathroom, thankful (not for the first time, and _certainly_ not for the last time) that James' parents apparently believed in toilet training early. He doesn't know how he'd've gone with the whole nappy business if James had still been using them.

Fifteen minutes later he's got the kid changed into a brand new set of clothes – tiny little jeans with a yellow Bob the Builder t-shirt and a red zip-up jacket with a hood – and Dean tucks the dirty clothes and the jacket that James had been wearing into one of their many bags before setting off in the direction of food.

James mangles his Happy Meal and Dean wonders how much of the food actually ends up going into the kid's mouth as opposed to mushed on the tabletop, and when the boy discovers the juice that came with the meal he sits there and drinks and drinks without even taking a breath until half the juice is gone.

"Huh," Dean says, watching the kid practically inhale the drink. "So we should buy some juice for you then."

By the time they're finished lunch, Dean can tell James is running pretty low on energy reserves – the kid keeps scrunching his nose and rubbing at his ear, and Dean didn't raise Sammy from six months old to not be able to notice the signs of a rapidly tiring child.

He doesn't know if James is the tantrum-when-overtired type or not, but he doesn't really want to hang around and find out so, after dashing into a supermarket and grabbing supplies for the road (including more juice boxes than you could poke a stick at) he hurries back out to where he left the Impala and sets James down in the front while he sets about setting up the child-seat.

The instructions say it should go in the back, but Dean knows without asking that that's just not gonna work. The two of them have been together for nearly 24 hours, and so far James has only relinquished his hold on Dean for long enough to latch onto him somewhere new, so locking the kid down in the back seat where he can't reach Dean isn't going to end well.

After much confusion and more than one pinched finger (damn clasps), Dean finally succeeds in securing the child-seat to the front passenger seat, and he loads James into it quickly, chucks all their bags into the back seat and sets off, gladly leaving the huge shopping complex in his rear view mirror as he heads towards the interstate.

James is still holding his new tiger close, and he's looking steadily at Dean as they drive along.

"What's up, bud?" Dean asks, glancing away from the road long enough to throw the kid a questioning glance.

James glances down at his tiger, then back up at Dean.

"Where's mine?" Dean guesses, and James blinks.

"It's in the back – with all the other toys."

James' gaze doesn't waver.

"You want me to get it?" he asks, and James blinks again. The hunter waits until they're on a straight stretch of road and then reaches into the back and keeps his eyes out the windshield as he fishes blindly about until he feels a soft fuzz against his fingers, and he draws out the wolf triumphantly.

"Here you go," he says, presenting the wolf to James, but the kid draws back a little and looks significantly from the wolf to Dean.

"Oh – you want me to hold him?" Dean finally deciphers, and James blinks at him.

"Righto," the hunter says, and settles the wolf in his lap. James looks happy with that, and the boy settles back into his chair to watch the road slip by.

Not five minutes later, the kid's sound asleep, the tiger tucked safely in his arms.

Dean glances over and smiles a little at the sight, then turns back to the road and continues driving, the wolf still snug in his lap.

…

_AN: So, there's chapter one. What did you think? I really enjoyed writing it – the image of Dean with a kid is just…. Oh, I melt. Like that mother in the toy section, I just melt. _

_Keep in mind that Dean's quite young when this is set – Sammy's just headed off to College, so Dean's 22. I've taken some liberties in that Dean and John are already hunting separately, when the show implies in the first episode that it's a fairly recent thing. _

_I hope you enjoyed it – I'm a little nervous about this whole story arc, to be honest, so any positive feedback you sling in my direction will be massively appreciated. The next chapter will involve more Dean-James bonding and them arriving at Bobby's. Future chapters will include John finding out, and Sam finding out, both of which will be dramatic, I assure you. _

_Bundi_

_( * Nick Mason is one of four band members for the British band Pink Floyd.)_


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Forgot to put this in chapter one, so this is for that one too. I do not own Supernatural._

_AN: So sorry for the delay – I didn't intend for it to be any more than a week. Real life kinda caught up with me a little. The next chapter is partly written already, so it shouldn't be too long. Thank you all so much for the reviews - every single one of them added an extra layer of awesome to my day. _

_**...**_

_**Give You the Sun**_

_**Chapter Two**_

_**...**_

"You know," Dean says, reaching across the table and tearing off a chunk of red Playdoh followed by a smaller chunk of blue, "if we mush these two together we'll get a really cool purple. You want me to make them change colour?"

James – his hands full of mushed yellow Playdoh and with flecks of green in his hair – stares thoughtfully at the two hunks of dough in Dean's hands for a moment and then nods decisively.

They'll arrive at Bobby's tonight; they've been on the road for five days now, and James has begun to show the tiniest fraction of improvement. He's still not making any sounds except for the nightmare-induced whimpering that comes every time he falls asleep, and he still gets this incredibly distressed expression if he can't reach Dean, but he's actually showing a bit of interest in what's going on around him now and he's doing things like nodding or shaking his head, which is more than he'd done at the start.

Normally, Dean would have been able to make the trip to Bobby's in three days, max, but travelling with James has meant there's been far more stops along the road and they've been pulling into motels for the night a lot earlier than Dean's used to.

It's not been too bad though. In fact, it's kind of nice to have such an enforced slow pace. Usually, when he's on his way somewhere the only things he sees are the road and the motel room, because he just drives until he needs to sleep and then drives some more.

,But this has been a far more relaxed trip than usual, with plenty of breaks along the way to give James a chance to stretch his legs and Dean a chance to take a break from driving just because.

At the kid's nod, Dean sets about mushing the red and blue playdoh clumps together, and James watches closely as the two colours start to blend; first with streaks of both red and blue twisting together before eventually they start to merge into this dull purple that's not at all what Dean had imagined.*

"Huh," he says eventually, frowning a little at the ball of dough that looks like it's been through one too many washes and lost all its colour. "I thought it would be… brighter. Sorry dude."

He hands the ball to James and the kid takes it gently, staring closely at the changed colour and apparently not minding its dullness in the slightest as he compares it to the two colours it's been created from.

Dean reaches for the green and sets about trying to make a playdoh-Impala, and he's totally focused on his task when his phone rings loudly from his pocket and he fishes it out and answers it without looking at the caller ID.

"Dean," he says simply, holding it to his ear with his shoulder while he turns both hands back to his lumpy-looking Impala.

"Dean," John says by way of greeting, his voice the usual rough grumble, and Dean startles and nearly drops the phone. "Where are you?"

"Dad?" Dean asks, his voice a little higher-pitched than usual, and clears his throat and tries again. "Uh, hey, Dad – uh… how are you?"

"Fine," John says shortly, then repeats, "Where are you?"

"Where am I?" Dean echoes, stalling for time. He's been caught off guard and really, he should have prepared some answers before now so that he could just rattle them off as though they were the truth, because if he keeps stalling and fumbling like this his Dad's gonna get suspicious.

"I'm, uh, in the middle of nowhere, really. Little roadside hotel on the outskirts of some little country town," he says, eventually deciding on telling the vaguest form of the truth possible. "Where are you?"

"Michigan," John answers, and Dean thinks short-and-sharp is the only way John knows how to speak. "Possible shapeshifter. How'd the poltergeist go?"

Dean glances up at James, who's focussing very hard on squashing the dull-purple playdoh into as flat a shape as possible, before he answers.

"Ah, yeah – fine – it went fine," he says, lying through his teeth. "In-and-out job."

"Good," John says. "Got a possible job for you in Omaha. Bunch of people have gone missing, all in the same four-block radius and always on a Friday afternoon, and their families are all being pretty close-mouthed about the whole thing. Seems like it could be our kinda gig – I want you to go down there and check it out."

"Ah…" Dean says, stalling again. "Omaha? I… can't, sorry. I… reckon I got one out my way already." Because the only thing that's gonna allow him to skip out on a job is if he's already on one, so he thinks quickly and makes it up as he goes. "Bunch of, uh… construction workers have gone missing from this little country town. I'm thinking… haunting."

He winces at the end, hoping against hope that his Dad will just buy it, but really – that was a piss poor attempt at lying through his teeth, and he's not done that bad a job of it since before he was ten.

"You alright Dean?" John asks, sounding a little sus. "You sound… distracted."

"Ah, yeah – I… just woke up. Drove through the night. Bit foggy still."

"Right," John says, still sounding unsure but Dean reckons he might have sold it. "How far out are you from your job?"

"Couple hours, max," Dean says, silently grateful he's known for being groggy when over-tired. "Maybe try Caleb – he might be able to check out the Omaha job."

"Yeah – I'll do that. Let me know how you go with yours."

"Yeah, will do," Dean says, and goes to say goodbye but John's already hung up. "Nice to chat to you too," he mutters under his breath, tossing the phone across the room to land with a quiet flump on the bed.

He's gonna have to face John eventually; tell him about James. He won't be able to lie to the man to get out of jobs for long – John'll become real sus real quick if Dean even tries it.

But... for as long as he can get away with it, Dean will. Because frankly, he's not looking forward to witnessing John's reaction to James, and he's gonna aim to avoid that moment for as long as he possibly can.

He takes a deep breath and lets it blur through his lips, and then he turns back to James with a smile.

"Righto, kid, what'd'ya say we get outta here and grab some breakfast on the road?"

James looks up at him, his fingers smeared with dull purple, an inquisitive expression on his face.

"You remember that sign we passed on the way here yesterday?" Dean asks, rather excited himself. "The bright one with the balloons, for the fair?"

At James' slightly hesitant nod (like he's not entirely sure he remembers it but thinks he might have seen it), Dean continues. "Well, it's on the way, so whatd'ya say we stop in on our way through?"

James nods once and turns back to his Playdoh while Dean starts the pack up process, which is now rather a bit more detailed than it ever was before.

Before, when it was just him – heck, even when it was him, John and Sammy – it was just a case of grabbing whatever set of clothes had been changed out of the day before, stuffing it into the duffle and setting off. There really wasn't much to the whole packing up thing.

But now with him and James, Dean's surprised at how far their stuff has _spread._

Dean finds the white and green keyboard under his bed in the farthest possible corner, there's a crayon in the sink in the bathroom, and the Barrel'o'Monkeys that James was playing with last night have been scattered to every corner of the room. Dean's clothes from yesterday are draped over the end of his bed, as usual, but James' socks and his jumper are tangled in the doona on the bed and his pants and t-shirt are in the bathroom, and one of his shoes is by the door while the other is under the table. The toy tiger is never far from the kid, and Dean doesn't have to look very far before he sees it and the wolf sitting side by side on the table next to the boy, looking like a pair of sentinels keeping an eye on the Playdoh activities.

"Right," Dean says, once he's done a third attempt at a last sweep and decided that they're actually all packed up this time. "Which do you want – your green jumper or your red jacket?"

James looks up from his Playdoh and considers the two options Dean's holding up, and points at the green jumper, which Dean proceeds to help him into. The Playdoh is crammed back into all the little pots (the red has to share with the dull-purple), and then Dean loads first the kid and then the bags into the car, ducks in to hand the key back, and then they're on their way.

The fair is in the next town over and James spends the trip happily playing with his keyboard, holding it on his lap and making nursery rhyme after nursery rhyme play out of the shrill little speakers; Dean thinks his nightmares are gonna be haunted by a mashup of _Mary had a Little Lamb _and _Incey Wincey Spider_ for years to come.

The road to the fair is lined with bright little clumps of streamers and a man in a fluro vest directs Dean to park the Impala between a grey 4-Wheel Drive and a dusty green Ford. He helps James out of his car seat and pulls a blue jacket over the little green jumper, then stuffs his wallet into his back pocket and picks James up and swaggers on into the fair, quietly excited.

He's been to fairs before, sure, but only for jobs; lots of people – kids in particular – in one place as hectic and busy and loud as a fair or a carnival or a festival has a serious appeal for all kinds of fugly sons-a-bitches, and Dean's cheerfully ganked more than one of them.

'Specially the ones that love kids. Man, Dean seriously hates fuglies that love kids.

So it's an experience for him to go to a fair for no other reason than to have fun, and to make sure that the kid with him has fun.

And boy, he plans to have some serious fun.

They've not even been in there for an hour before they've eaten a stick of fairy floss each (well – Dean's eaten one, and then helped James eat his as well, so really Dean's had nearly two) and Dean's had a super mustardy hotdog and James has had a lot of tomato sauce and some chicken nuggets, and they've been on the aeroplane ride and the train that chugs around the entire length of the fair, and Dean's tried to convince James to go on the chair-swing ride but the kid wasn't comfortable being that far away from him, so they went on the Super Slide instead. And the Super Slide was awesome, so they went on it three more times.

And now they're wandering through the arcade section of the fair and there are show bag stalls and Toss-a-Hoop games and Lucky Dips and Catch-the-Prairie-Dog and – and Dean's eyes light up at this one – a Shoot the Duck stall.

He knows it's probably unfair of him to want to do it, 'cause he knows he'll kick butt at it and win the biggest prize there is to be won, but damn, he really wants to shoot some little cardboard targets to smitherines and get a prize for it.

And when James sees one of the prizes on offer when they walk up – a huge, life-sized stuffed tiger hanging out the front of the store – and lights up like a Christmas tree, well, Dean's just gotta do it.

"You want that tiger, bud?" he asks, and James nods emphatically, his wide eyes pinned on the huge squishie toy.

"You know, I'm beginning to see a pattern here," the hunter says, thinking of the little plushie tiger waiting for them in the car and pointing to the kid's tiger-striped face (they'd passed a face painting stall about twenty minutes after entering the fair, and when asked what he wanted James had pointed silently to the orange, white and black option). "Right – hang on a sec."

Dean swaggers up to the counter and hands over the money needed for six shots and takes up his stance in front of the counter with James holding firmly to his jeans, peering curiously around his leg.

The little popper-gun they give him is completely off balance, and it turns out it's only got little foam darts in there that knock the ducks down, as opposed to little bullets that actually explode the targets. Makes sense. Safety first.

So it's not what he's used to. Whatever; it's no big deal. What's the difference between foam darts and silver bullets anyway? You know – aside from the whole level of lethal.

He takes careful aim with his off-balance gun when the over-the-top music starts to play and the ducks start moving side to side, and man, this is so easy he could'a done it when he was ten. There's absolutely zero unpredictability, and the pace of the little cardboard ducks is – to someone who's used to aiming at things with super human speed – almost painfully slow.

He fires rapidly and mows down six of them in a neat little line, and the guy running the stall (who's been focused more on his bright orange chewing gum than he has been on Dean) turns the machine off in a bored manner and glances lazily over his shoulder to check how many have been knocked and then does a double take and stares with wide eyes.

"You – you got all ov'em!" he says, sounding stunned enough that it makes Dean think that six out of six is maybe a little rare.

"Most I ever seen anyone get is free!" the guy continues, pronouncing his _th _with an _f_, still looking wide eyed between Dean and the six flattened ducks, like he can't quite believe it but can't work out how Dean could have cheated.

"So... what's my prize?" Dean asks, when the guy makes no move to offer him one.

"Ah – any one o' them big ones. Never had anyone win one before," the guy says, gesturing to the back wall where there are four different plushies, each so huge that he'd probably have to strap it to the Impala's roof, all of them rather faded like they've been there a while, and none of them in any way tiger like.

"Could I have that tiger instead?" Dean asks, pointing to the toy that had caught James' eye that – while life-sized – isn't as big as the ones the guy pointed out.

"Hell, man," the stall owner says, reaching up and untying the tiger. "You the first guy I ever had knock down all six. You can have whatever the hell you want."

He hands the tiger over to Dean and the hunter can feel James practically vibrating with excitement at the sight of the huge stuffed toy, and Dean kneels down in front of him and grins as he hands it over.

It's way too big for James to hold and Dean knows he's the one who's gonna end up carrying it all around the fair, looking like some kind of domesticated Daddy with the kid in one arm and a bunch of colourful souvenirs in the other, but it's worth it.

It's more than worth it, because when he hands the tiger to James and the kid wraps his arms around its neck, the boy looks up at Dean and – the kid who's face in five days has shown nothing but expressions ranging from fright to distress to three-year-old concentration to blank emotionlessness – looks up at Dean, and _beams. _

And, hell, Dean can't help it even if he'd wanted to. His face splits into this huge grin in return, and he doesn't stop smiling the whole rest of the day.

...

Dean pulls the Impala to a stop right next to the steps leading up to Bobby's porch, and leans across the seat to gently wake James.

The kid had practically passed out as soon as Dean had gotten him loaded into the car after the fair, and he's been asleep the whole trip to Bobby's, his little tiger in his lap and the big one on the seat next to him, its head on his lap.

James blinks a little and wakes slowly, his tiger-stripe face-paint a little cracked on his left cheek where it's been leaning against the carseat, and he looks around curiously to see where they are.

"We're here, bud," Dean says, unbuckling him from the childseat and lifting him into his arms before clambering out the driver's side door. "This is Bobby's place. We're gonna be staying here for a while."

James continues to look around with quiet interest as Dean shuts the car door and starts up the steps, leaving all their stuff in the Impala for later collection.

He's nervous, but he doesn't let that show as he knocks out a tune loudly on Bobby's front door and James tucks his head into the crook between Dean's neck and shoulder, the little tiger hanging by its ear from his hand.

There's silence for a few short seconds before both of them hear the sounds of approaching footsteps, and a moment later Bobby swings open the door with a grumpy expression on his face.

To say that the older hunter is a little startled to find Dean friggin' Winchester on his front step with a three year old in his arms is a bit of an understatement.

"Aw, shit, kid," he says by way of greeting, once he's over the split second surprise. "You know there's such a thing as protection, don'cha?"

Dean's eyebrows furrow in bewildered confusion, and there's a full second of silence before he works out what the hell Bobby's talking about.

"Oh! No, he's not mine," he says quickly, glancing briefly at James, who's staring with intent curiosity at Bobby. "Ah... could we come in? I'll explain inside – it's cold out here, and I left his jacket in the car."

Bobby looks an interesting combination of relieved, curious and cautious as he shoves the door open wider by way of invitation.

Five minutes later, James has a juice box in one hand and his tiger in the other and is sitting curled up against Dean on Bobby's couch as the young hunter tells the story, editing enough to make it kid-friendly.

"So... he's the only one?" Bobby asks once Dean's done, following the younger hunter's lead and talking in as vague a manner as possible so that James won't pick up on what they're talking about.

"Yeah," Dean sighs, glancing down to find James quietly observing everything in the room from his safe spot beside Dean. "And I checked for anyone else he could go to, but there was no one."

"So, what, you're gonna raise him?" Bobby says, his voice scoffing. Even if he hardly knew Dean he'd be able to see the clear attachment the younger hunter already has for the kid, and he knows how Dean gets with people he gets attached to.

Dean picks up on the disapproval in the older man's tone, and sends a glare his way.

"It wasn't my plan originally," he says, and Bobby groans mentally as the words confirm what he already knows. "I was gonna find a family to adopt him; leave him with them."

"You know we got an organisation that does that for you," Bobby points out dryly.

"What – CPS? No. No way in hell. I'm not gonna let him get bumped from place to place, from school to school his whole life. Not to mention some of the freaks that put their names up to be foster carers. No way in hell, Bobby."

Bobby knows a lost cause when he sees one, but that doesn't mean he's done questioning the young hunter.

"And what – you reckon a life with a hunter is better than a life with a set of foster parents?" he demands. "Don't ya remember what it was like for you? You and Sam hardly had a stable upbringing, and if I recall your longest stint in a single school was a month. You'd inflict that on this kid?"

"If it means he's gonna be better off, yeah," Dean says, voice unyielding. "Look, I'm not giving him up Bobby, so you might as well stop tryin' to convince me."

Bobby heaves a sigh, giving up. "Fine. So, what's your plan then? And – come to think of it – what are you doin' at my place?"

Dean hesitates for half a moment, and Bobby knows what's coming before the younger hunter's even opens his mouth.

"Well," he says slowly. "I was hopin' we could stay here for a while. You know – just until he's recovered a bit more and I can sort out something else."

Bobby narrows his eyes a little.

"Your dad know what you're up to?" he asks, and Dean's brief glance away is as good as a shouted confession. "Hell, boy. You think he's gonna be pleased about this? Your Daddy can rage with the best of 'em, and I don't want you bringin' that man's anger down on my property, y'hear? And I can tell you he's gonna be pissed as hell that you – "

"Yeah, I don't give a crap about what he thinks of James, ok?" Dean snaps, cutting through Bobby angrily. "I'm not some kid he can shout orders at. He's the one who wanted to hunt solo; he can't expect to run my life if we aren't even running together. I am raising this kid. Screw him, and screw what he thinks of James. I don't care."

Bobby raises one scruffy eyebrow at this sudden vehement outburst, and after a long stretch of silence he finally concedes with a shrug.

"Room you and Sammy used to stay in is free still," he says as a peace offering, nodding to the stairs. "Just got the one though. Rest of my rooms are full of stuff; no space in any of them."

"That's fine," Dean says, his voice still a little stiff. "He doesn't like being too far away from me anyway. Hey, bud," he says, turning to James. "We'll go get the stuff out of the car now, ok?"

Bobby watches silently as James' whole attention shifts to Dean when the hunter speaks, and the kid slips his hand into Dean's like it belongs there and shuffles forwards until he can bounce off the couch to land a little wonkily on the floor, pulling on Dean's hand to keep his balance.

Bobby sees the way Dean's eyes warm at the gesture – watches the two of them make their way by him hand-in-hand back out to the Impala, like they're the only two people in the world – and thinks that if John wants to put a stop to this then he'd better get here soon and talk some sense into that kid of his, cause if it's left much longer then it's gonna be way too late to even attempt to split James and the young hunter apart.

...

...

It's an unearthly scream that jolts Bobby awake, and he's snatched his knife from under his pillow and grabbed his gun up off the nightstand before he's even registered that he's awake, and he's rolled out of bed with his weapons at the ready before his eyes are even properly open and focussed.

The scream sounds again and Bobby's in the hall before the echoes have finished ringing through his house, and he's only taken one step before it suddenly registers with him what it is making the noise.

He can hear more now – now that he's slightly more awake and a little less disoriented – and he can hear the keening, sobbing sounds coming from what's been Sam and Dean's room since the first time they stayed here so many years ago.

He hesitates for a long moment, unsure of what he should do, but then another wail rents the air and his feet are moving silently before he's even given them permission to.

He's not surprised that James is waking up screaming in the middle of the night – not after everything the kid's been through – but he's still a little bit surprised at the level of the distress that's audible in the gasping sobs, and his heart goes out to the kid.

He's halfway there when his ears pick up on another sound that until now the child's distressed wails have been hiding, and he hesitates again when he registers Dean's voice soothing and hushing the sobbing boy.

Bobby can't hear from here what it is the younger hunter is saying, but the calming timbre of Dean's voice is clear even from where Bobby's hovering in the hall and, though he hesitates, the older man finally comes to a decision and continues his stealthy approach.

Dean hadn't fully shut the door earlier that night when he went to bed, and when Bobby's close enough he can just see through the crack to where Dean's turned the lamp on the bedside table on, and Bobby feels his heart stutter a little at the sight that meets him.

Dean's clearly been woken from a deep sleep – he's got that rumpled, slightly bewildered air about him that a person gets when they find themselves suddenly and unexpectedly awake – but whatever he was five minutes ago he's totally awake now, and his entire focus is on the sobbing child he's got wrapped in his arms.

James is clutching desperately at Dean's white shirt, and the kid is wailing hysterically into the hunter's neck as Dean rocks gently back and forward and whispers soothing words to the boy, his hands rubbing soothing circles onto James' back.

Bobby can't quite hear everything that's being said, but he hears enough to work out the general gist of what Dean's saying (it's a mix of "it's alright" blended with "hey, I'm here" and "it was just a dream," and Bobby thinks he can hear Dean humming _Hey Jude_ in between every few rounds of soothing words).

For a long while nothing seems to change – James keeps bawling loudly and clutching at Dean with a mix of desperation and terror, and Dean keeps humming and whispering in the kid's ear, his arms wrapped in a soothing embrace around the distressed young boy – but eventually James' sobs begin to quiet a little, until finally the stop altogether and are replaced by a sad little sniffling.

"Better?" Dean murmurs, and Bobby sees James nod into the hunter's shoulder, his breath still hiccupy and uneven.

"Good," Dean sooths, gently stroking his fingers through James' hair. "You think you're ready to go back to sleep?"

James tightens his hold on Dean's shirt, as though someone's trying to pull him away.

"Hey, hey – I'm not goin' anywhere," Dean says soothingly, one hand continuing to brush through the kid's hair while the other arm tightens more securely around the boy. "I'm here, alright? I'm not goin' anywhere."

James loosens his hold a little, slightly reluctant but clearly trusting, and tucks his face more snugly into Dean. It takes a while, and the whole time Dean hums _Hey Jude_ and runs his fingers through James' hair, but eventually the kid's body grows limper and limper until it's clear he's fallen back asleep.

Dean glances down and smiles a little – a sad little smile that Bobby's sure he's not meant to see (hell – he was probably not meant to see any of this, come to think of it) and gathers the boy further into his arms so that he can lie back down against his pillows with James tucked securely up against him, ensconced in his arms.

The lamp clicks off but Bobby doesn't move – doesn't want to draw attention to himself until Dean's asleep and he can sneak away undetected – and eventually his eyes adjust and he can see the two of them curled together in a little nest of security, a pair of lost boys looking to each other for comfort.

It's not long before Dean's breaths even out and Bobby sneaks away as silently as he arrived, the image of Dean soothing James still clear even as he slips back into his own room and shuts the door behind him.

And hell, now he's _really_ not looking forward to John finding out about this. Because he'd thought there was still time for John to talk Dean out of this – convince him that James would be better off with a foster family and Dean would be better off kid-less and hunting, but now he knows he's wrong.

It's way, way too late for that.

...

*** That bit about the Playdoh is a shout out to anyone who's ever had the awesome idea of blending two different coloured Playdohs together to make a gobsmackingly awesome third colour... only to have it turn out dull and blegh. Is it just me, or does Playdoh mix **_**really badly? **_**Where does the shine go?**

**And on another, far more exciting note: by this time tomorrow, I'm going to have a little baby cousin! Oh, I am so excited! I cannot wait to meet him. I would love it if you could spare a minute to pray for him and the life he'll lead; you don't know him and he'll likely never know you prayed for him, but the blessing will be there anyway and it will have an incredibly positive effect on his life.**

**Thanks so much for reading – the next chapter shouldn't be nearly as long a wait. **

**God bless, **

**Bundi**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I have a baby cousin! He and his mum are both healthy and happy – thank you all so much for your prayers! I have visited him twice and, I know I'm bias, but wow. Adorable doesn't even begin to cover it. Between writing this story and meeting my cousin, I have a seriously bad case of babies-on-the-brain. I've got the cluckiness **_**bad**_**, people… **

**Enjoy! **

…

**Give You the Sun**

**Chapter Three**

…

It's the smell of coffee and toast that wakes Dean, and he blinks his way back to a vague level of awareness to peer blearily at the old clock on the bedside table.

8:07. Huh. He's slept in this morning.

It's not too surprising, really, considering how late he was up last night.

James is still fast asleep, curled into Dean. That the kid is still out of it is also unsurprising, considering that he's the reason Dean was awake from 2:21 this morning through to some time after five.

They've been at Bobby's for just short of a week now, and coming here was definitely the right thing to do. James is more settled now that they're actually staying in one place for more than twelve hours, and the smile Dean got at the fair last week is no longer the only one the kid's given.

The old tyre swing out the back of the house seems to be James' favourite, and that gets a lot of smiles out of him, and the kid seems to be able to see past Bobby's gruff exterior and has even managed to convince the old man to sit and make Playdoh people for an hour with nothing more than a pleading stare and an innocently offered clump of 'Doh.

Despite that the kid's settled in well though, and despite the improvements he's shown so far, the nightmares are still waking him up each night. Dean's not surprised by that – he'd be surprised if they _had_ lessoned, to be honest – and last night was particularly bad.

Dean yawns hugely as he disentangles himself from James' clingy form and half rolls, half climbs out of bed to wander in the vague direction of the door.

"Coffee…" he groans, somehow making it safely downstairs and practically sleep-walking into the kitchen.

Bobby snorts at him, amused.

"Good mornin' to you too," he says from his place by the stove, and points with his elbow to the just-made pot of coffee sitting on the bench. "'Snot as easy as it looks, is it? This whole kid-raising business."

"Lecture, no," Dean says, slightly less than clearly, making his way sluggishly towards the bench. "Coffee, yes."

Bobby wonders for a moment whether he should pour the scalding drink for the younger hunter before he burns himself, but for someone who's moving so slowly Dean manages to get a mug filled to the brim extremely quickly and somehow succeeds in not spilling it all over himself.

"He still asleep?" Bobby asks after a long silence during which Dean flumps at the table and almost falls into his coffee in his eagerness to drink it. The older hunter's gruff voice tinged with just a little bit of soft ness when he asks about James. Hell – the kid's like a limpet; he just grows on you, whether you want him to or not.

"Yeah," Dean sighs, sounding a little bit more human now that he's had a little bit of his coffee.

"Not surprised," Bobby says, turning back to the stove where – Dean's only just noticed – he's got a pan with scrambled eggs cooking away. "Kid was up pretty late last night."

"You heard?" Dean asks, grimacing a little, and Bobby snorts again.

"Kid – the whole damn neighbourhood musta heard," he says, before continuing in a softer tone. "Was a bad one, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Dean sighs again, staring into his coffee mug. "Each time he'd calm down enough to start falling asleep, it was like his dream hit him again and he'd start over. I think he only ended up falling asleep because he was so exhausted."

"An' you?" Bobby asks, critically eyeing the bags under Dean's eyes and the exhausted slump of his shoulders. "How long'd take you to fall asleep after he did?"

Dean chuckles a little at that, running a hand over his stubbly jaw. "I think I passed out about thirty seconds after he did. Don't remember that clearly, to be honest…"

Bobby purses his lips in a disapproving fashion and turns to face Dean fully, and the younger hunter can see what's coming before Bobby even opens his mouth.

"You sure about this, boy?" Bobby asks, doubt heavy in his voice. "You're hardly equipped for dealin' with a kid in the best of circumstances, and this ain't hardly the best of circumstances. You sure this is the best thing for him? Or you, for that matter?"

Dean rubs at his jaw again, silent for a moment as he considers his response.

"What do you want me to do, Bobby?" he asks, his voice sounding as tired as he looks. "He lost his entire family in one night just two weeks ago, and he saw it happen – of course he's struggling. But it would do way more damage than good right now to put him somewhere I'm not. I'm the one who got him out of there – I'm the only person he trusts."

It's not said with any kind of arrogance – any kind of pride or misplaced sense of possession; it's just a simple statement of fact, and Bobby has to acknowledge the truth of it.

"Besides," Dean continues, staring blankly into his half-drunk coffee and sounding a bit far away. "I get it. I mean – I know what he's going through. There's not many people who can say they saw their parent die when they were less than five years old, you know? Considering what it is he's been through… I'm kinda the best person for the job."

And Bobby doesn't really have an answer for that. Yeah, he's noted the similarities in their stories already, but it's the first time Dean's just out and said it, and it hits home again just how tragic both those boys' lives are.

Before the silence that's fallen stretches too long, Bobby hears something and glances out the kitchen door into the hallway in the direction the stairs.

"Speakin' of…" he says, as James carefully makes it to the bottom step and turns towards the kitchen, that stuffed tiger of his held tight in his grasp.

"Mornin' buddy," Dean calls, smiling at the kid as he gets closer. "How'd you… hey – you alright?"

Dean's voice switches from cheerful and welcoming to concerned and comforting in a heartbeat as James comes more clearly into view and the hunter spots the silent tears tracking down his cheeks, and he's out of his chair and by the kid's side in an instant.

"Hey, buddy, what is it?" he asks, kneeling by the boy's side as James reaches for him and snuggles into his arms, clearly seeking comfort. "You have another nightmare?"

James' arms tighten around Dean fractionally but he shakes his head, and Dean frowns a little before coming up with another possibility.

"Was it because you woke up and I wasn't there?" he guesses, and James' only response is to snuggle closer into him.

"Hey, man," Dean says, a tiny light of protest in his voice as he comforts the child in his arms. "You know I'm not going anywhere. Even if you wake up and I'm not there, I'm not gonna be far away, ok?"

James nods a little but doesn't pull away, so Dean gently pushes the kid back a little until he can look him in the eye, his hands on the boy's tiny shoulders as he makes sure he's got his full attention.

"Hey," he says, using his thumb to wipe a tear off the boy's cheek. "I promise. I'm not going anywhere. Ok?"

James looks at him for a long moment, then finally nods a little, and Dean smiles at him.

"Ok then," he says, standing up and bringing James with him. "So what do you say to some breakfast? Uncle Bobby cooked."

Bobby doesn't even bother objecting the uncle business. He'd tried, when Dean first said called him that to James, but he might as well have stayed silent for all the attention Dean's paid to his protests.

Dean carries James to the table and sets him up at the chair that's been dubbed his, sitting him on top of the pair of phone books they're using as an improvised booster-seat and pushing the chair in close to the table.

He grabs a teaspoon (they don't have any of the kid-sized cutlery, and they've discovered that James using a full sized fork is just _messy_), cuts a piece of toast into little bits and plonks a spatula-full of scrambled eggs onto the plate, and puts the whole lot on the table in front of the boy, then turns to head back to his own chair to continue drinking his coffee.

"Daddy," James says suddenly, when Dean goes to sit back down in his chair at the other end of the table, and Dean's whole body freezes and he stares at the kid with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

"Did he just…" he croaks after a long silence, not quite able to believe what he knows he's just heard.

"…Yep," Bobby says, taking a moment himself to recover from the shock. "He just did."

"Daddy," James says again when there's no immediate response, and it's more of a whine this time as he points to the chair next him, clearly asking Dean to sit there instead of at the other end of the table, but Dean can't do much other than stare in wordless shock.

"Ah… I think I left some tools out back last night," Bobby says, totally failing at an unobvious exit. "Better go make sure that no hillbilly's made off with them."

Dean barely even notices as Bobby practically flees the room on the tail end of that flimsy excuse and leaves him to deal with this on his own; he's still too stunned to notice much of anything really, and the word James has spoken twice now is gonging about in his head like one of those ridiculously huge bells that can be heard for miles around.

James picks up on the rather still atmosphere quite quickly and he cocks his head a little at Dean in confusion, wondering what's going on.

"Daddy?" he says again, and it's enough third time around to somewhat jolt Dean out of his shocked stupor.

"Ah, James, buddy," he says, getting up and sliding into the seat next to James, and then he stops, cause what's he supposed to say now?

"Um… you, ah… you know I'm… I'm not your Daddy, right?"

Wow, Winchester. Ten points for tact.

"I mean, ah… um…"

Aw, crap. He's wishing so badly right now that he'd seen this coming so he could plan for it. But no. Muddle blindly through it is, then.

"Your, ah… your mom and dad were, um… they were real nice people."

Well. Presumably. It's not like he knew them.

"And they loved you a lot."

Again, presumably. But most parents adore their kids, so that one's a pretty safe assumption.

"And, ah… well. I mean… do you… remember? What your mom and dad looked like?"

Dean figures he's got to ask, because sure, it was only two weeks ago that they died, but if the kid's calling him Daddy, then maybe he _doesn't_ remember…

But James nods solemnly, then closes his eyes and tilts his head a little for a moment before he looks back up at Dean.

"You see them when you're asleep?" Dean guesses, and James nods, looking rather like he's about to start crying again, and Dean figures it's not exactly family trips down to the beach that James dreams about. More like nightmares with self-wielding knives and cords that enjoy strangling, and long, long staircases just waiting for someone to fall down them….

"Ok," Dean says, forcibly cutting off that train of thought and quashing the memories of how James' house looked when he got there. Of how James' family looked. Of how James looked, curled in a tiny ball in the corner of his closet.

"So, you know then that I'm not your real Daddy," Dean continues, keeping eye contact and watching James' reactions. "So you don't have to call me that, if you don't want to. You can call me Dean instead if you want. Instead of Daddy."

James' face wrinkles a little as he struggles to work out what Dean is trying to say, and Dean thinks he sees the moment when the kid works it out – his eyes start to fill with tears and his face crumbles into this distressed, abandoned expression that makes Dean's stomach clench painfully.

"Or Daddy," he says quickly. "You can call me Daddy if you want – I was just saying you don't _have_ to."

James sniffles a little, still looking far too close to tears for Dean's liking, and the hunter reaches out to brush the boy's hair back in a comforting gesture.

"So it's up to you," he says seriously. "I really don't mind which you choose. What do you want to call me?"

James sniffs again, swipes the back of his hand across his nose, and says quite clearly, "Daddy," and Dean's heart does this erratic little flutter.

"Ok, then," he says, taking a moment to swallow and get a smile on his face. "Daddy it is then. You want a hug?"

James is holding his little arms out before he's even finished nodding, and Dean tugs him out of his chair so that he can properly hug the kid, and James snuggles his face into Dean's shoulder and wraps his arms tightly around the hunter's neck.

"Daddy," he says again, and Dean's heart does that little happy-nervous flutter thing again.

"Righto," he says a little while later, drawing away and looking at James again. "What'say we finish our breakfast and get out of our pyjamas, then go play on the tyre swing?"

James smiles and nods happily, and Dean settles him back in his chair and pushes the plate of scrambled eggs towards him.

"What'd'ya say we call Uncle Bobby and give him the all clear?" Dean asks, reaching for his coffee and sitting back down in his seat (next to James, this time).

James grins a tiny-toothed grin and nods firmly.

Dean grins back and reaches out to tweak the kid's nose, and James _giggles_. Honest to mullet-rock _giggles,_ and Dean feels his face register his surprise before his grin returns with double force.

"Bobby!" he hollers, turning in the vague direction of the back door and still grinning. "Awkward moment over! You can come back in now!"

There's a few seconds of silence before Dean hears the clump of Bobby's footsteps on the back porch followed by the creak of the door swinging open, and Dean turns back to his coffee and glances up at James, who's cheerfully ignoring his spoon in favour of eating the toast and eggs with his hands.

Daddy.

Well, damn. He hadn't seen that coming.

…

**AN: This is shorter than usual, I know. It was originally longer, but it just wasn't working well as one single chapter, so I've split it into two. Upside though, it means I this one up sooner than usual, and it also means the next one is practically all typed, so you won't have to wait long for it. Go on – do a happydance for me. **

**Bundi**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Here we go, Chapter Four (or, alternatively, Chapter 3.2). I give you John Winchester, everyone. **

**.**

**Give You the Sun**

**Chapter Four**

**.**

John can hear a child's delighted laughter coming from inside as he pulls up out the front of Bobby's place and steps out of the car, and that's possibly the last thing he was expecting to hear considering where he is.

The thing that gives him pause though – more so than the sounds of a joyful child's shrieking from inside Bobby's house when John _knows_ the man has no family and no friends aside from other hunters – is the fact that the Impala is parked up near the porch, her black paint glinting regally in the sun.

Dean is here.

Dean is here, and the last that John heard was that Dean was in Maine dealing with a werewolf.

He doesn't know what's going on here – why the hell Dean's here when he's supposed to be in another state entirely and why the boy lied about it – but he knows already that he doesn't like it.

With a scowl that dairy would flee from, John makes his way up the steps to bang on the door, his rising anger detectable in the force of his blows.

There's no answer for a long while, and then he hears Dean holler, laughter in his voice, "Hey Bobby – can you get that?" from somewhere near the other end of the house. The same direction that the kid's delighted laugher is coming from.

The confirmation that Dean is here (not that John needed it, really, because Dean would hardly leave the Impala here by herself) makes John's blood boil, and he seethes silently on the doorstep while he waits for someone to answer the damn door.

It's rude to just barge into other people's houses uninvited (he hasn't lost _all _his social graces since becoming a hunter, despite what most people would say), but he decides rather quickly that he'll do it anyway – and he'll take great pleasure in kicking the door open – if no one answers him in the next five seconds.

It doesn't come to that, thankfully, because after a few seconds of silence Dean hollers again, "Bobby?" and then, when there's no answer (the older man must be downstairs or somewhere that he can't hear Dean's calls, John thinks behind the haze of anger), Dean calls, "Don't worry – I got it."

There's a short pause and then all of a sudden there's two sets of footsteps thundering towards the front door, both running, and there's the shrieking laughter of a child being chased that grows louder with the approaching feet.

John hears Dean, right on the other side of the door now, cry "Gotcha!" and there's a surprised, laughing cry that sounds suspiciously similar to that that a kid makes when you sweep them up into the air from behind.

And then the door springs open and Dean is standing there, beaming, looking tousled and with flushed cheeks, with a small boy no more than three sitting on his hip like he belongs there.

Dean sees John and the grin slips off his face like it's made of slowly dripping sludge; his eyes widen to the point where it's almost comical and his lips drop as his mouth falls open into a silent 'o,' shock and horror written clearly across his features.

It's the classic face of a kid who's just been busted big time.

"Dad," he gasps out, staring in shock, and John does _not_ miss the way he shifts his body slightly so that the dark haired kid is just a little bit further away from the furious man in the doorway.

"The hell, Dean?" John demands by way of hello. "You're supposed to be in Maine. Werewolf. Ring any bells?"

"Uh... uh..." Dean says, apparently lost for words.

The boy – his bright green eyes fixed with cautious curiosity on John – leans into Dean and whispers in his ear.

The only problem with that is that children aren't very good at whispering, and it's really nopt hushed at all when the kid says, "Daddy, whozat?"

And maybe the kid's better at whispering than John originally thought, because he did _not_ just hear that.

Except that Dean's eyes widen further in horror and his face blanches of absolutely any colour it'd had moments ago, and John stands in stunned silence for a full three seconds before his blood starts pumping in his ears and an expression like thunder (only more frightening, and far more deadly) sweeps across his face.

"Dean?" he asks, only it's more of a furiously rumbling growl that demands he be told what the _hell_ is going on here, _now_.

"I... I can explain..." Dean says, and John just can't _wait_ to hear it, but then there's another arrival.

"John Winchester," Bobby says, appearing by Dean's side and looking at John with an expression that suggests he's expecting and ready for a war. "Been wonderin' when you'd show your charmin' mug 'round here."

John doesn't miss the glance that Dean throws the trucker-capped hunter, and doesn't that just serve to piss him off even more. There's clear relief in the glance, even though the Winchester kid still looks two shades away from shit-terrified. It's the kind of expression that you give someone who's suddenly appeared to back you up in a difficult hunt.

"Somebody better tell me what the hell is going on here," John practically snarls, and Bobby shrugs in this 'Meh, if you say so' kind of way.

"Couches in the sitting room are free," he says, turning and heading off down the hall. "Coffee's just done; I'll make us all a cup."

The smartarse sarcasm is clear in the older man's voice, and John hadn't thought he could _get_ any more pissed off, but oh, he just has.

He shoves through the door and makes sure to hit it with his shoulder so that it bounces hard off the wall behind, and Dean steps sharply out of his way as John storms by, one of the younger Winchester's arms supporting the kid from underneath and the other wrapped protectively around the boy's body, as though to shield him from John.

Papa Winchester storms after Bobby into the sitting room like a storm cloud, but then draws up sharply upon entering.

There are toys scattered _everywhere_, and little touches here and there that just _scream_ that there's a child living here; has been living there for a good while_. _

The TV's on in the corner, looping endlessly through the main menu page for The Jungle Book. There are crayons scattered across a bunch of papers on the floor by the couch, the quality of the pictures varying from formless squiggles to stiff-looking stick-men. There's a lifesized tiger on the couch, with a matching tiger of much smaller proportions snugly fitted between its front paws. There's a tiny pair of bright red sneakers loitering near the doorway, and there's a little green jumper that's been tossed onto the back of the couch that's lying next to one of Dean's jackets, which has clearly been discarded in a similar fashion.

Despite the general mess and the kid-stuff scattered around though, the main thing John notices is that the whole place is far, _far _cleaner than he's ever seen it. Books are actually on shelves, and the couches are actually clear (as opposed to having a bunch of maps and books strewn across them), and for a place that John usually equates with dust, it's incredibly dust free.

And there are no weapons around. None. John can't see a single knife or bullet or gun, when ever single other time he's been here the place has been more loaded than a gun shop.

He hears a movement behind him and spins sharply to see Dean – still with the quietly watchful kid sitting on his hip and holding on tight – trying to move as quietly as possible as he practically slinks into the sitting room, one arm still wrapped around the kid in an extremely protective manner.

He's keeping the boy as far away from John as he can as he moves to stand in the corner by the door leading to the kitchen, covered on two out of four sides by a solid wall, and he puts the boy down behind him and stands in front so that anyone wanting to get to the kid would have to go through the young hunter first.

John doesn't need to be a people-reader to know that Dean wants him _nowhere_ near the boy.

"What's going on, Dean?" John demands, his voice the kind of dangerous growl that usually spells death or severe pain for a large variety of fuglies.

Dean swallows visibly, looking _beyond_ nervous despite the _stay_ _back _aura he's giving off, and it's only a moment later when Bobby appears back from the kitchen with a mug of fresh-made coffee in his hands that Dean glances down at the kid, then back up to John and says, "Dad – this is James. I've... I've adopted him."

John's seen a lot in his years. He's been a soldier and a civilian and a hunter, and he'd thought nothing could surprise him anymore. Well. Clearly he'd been wrong about that.

"You've _what_?" he snarls, and he's kind of surprised he's not roaring.

Dean swallows again, then glances to Bobby – silently observing from the couch against the wall, the only one of them actually sitting – for a boost of confidence.

"The Poltergeist you sent me to deal with," Dean says. "Well... it didn't exactly go to plan, and – "

"The Poltergeist?" John interrupts, and yeah, he's roaring now. "That was nearly two months ago! You mean to tell me that you've had this kid for that long? That you've been _lying_ to me for nearly a month and a half?"

"Dad – let me explain – "

"What the hell is wrong with you? You can't just go around adopting kids – you're twenty-two, damn it! Where the hell's his family?"

"They're dead, Dad – that's what I'm trying to – "

"So, what? You decided to take care of him yourself? You don't know the first thing about raising a kid!"

"I practically raised Sammy, Dad, I'm not completely clueless – "

"And what about hunting, huh? How the hell you planning to hunt if you've got a two year old attached to your leg?"

"He's three, and I'm taking a break until he – "

"The hell you are! Hunting's your job – you aren't just dropping it because some kid fell into your lap!"

"He _is_ my job, and he didn't 'fall into my lap' – "

"I haven't wasted all this time training you so you can sit at home and play house with some kid – "

"Dad – stop – you're scaring him," Dean says, his hand on the boy's shaggy hair in a comforting manner as the kid burries his face into the back of Dean's leg, his little hands gripping the jeans tightly.

"The hell do I care if I scare him – I don't even know who he is!" John throws back harshly.

"He's my kid!" Dean yells back, furious and protective.

"He's not!" John roars. "He's not your problem, he's not your concern, and he's _not your kid_!"

"Stop, Dad," Dean orders - actually _orders - and John is shocked for all of one second because Dean's got his dad's drill-sergeant voice down-pat and John's never had his own voice used against him like that._

And then Dean's audacity dawns on him and his eyes narrow down into slits.

"What did you just say?" he growls dangerously, unable to quite believe that his own son just gave him an order.

"I said stop," Dean says, unrepentantly still using the voice he's learnt from John, his eyes flashing angrily. "Be pissed at me, fine, but stop yelling. Stop scaring him. He's only just starting to improve and if you make him take even a single step back, I swear to God I will knock you out where you stand."

And John gapes, because hell, he was _not_ expecting that.

"Just let me explain, Dad," he says, taking advantage of the momentary silence, the angry tone gone from his voice as quickly as it came as he beseeches his father. "When you gave me the address of the place that had been having trouble, I went straight there, but by the time I got there the 'giest had been at them already. James – he was the only one left. His Mom, his Dad, his sister... they were all gone already, and all because the Impala was running on empty and I had to stop and grab some gas. I'd've made it if I hadn't stopped. But I got there too late to save anyone except James, and even that was close."

"So, what, you don't save a couple of people so you decide to adopt their son as penance?" John demands, and he's right back in there with the yelling.

"You think adopting him was my first choice?" Dean snaps, looking at John like he's a fool. "I checked for family – I checked for anyone who could take him. There was no one. They were new in the area and didn't have any friends, I couldn't find any friends from where they'd lived before, and they had no other family. _There was no one else he could go to_."

"Child Protection Services exists exactly for kids like him," John half-yells, gesturing furiously at the boy hiding behind his son's leg.

"Not a chance in hell," Dean snarls, and he sounds so fierce that even John is taken aback for half a second, and then he shakes his head.

"No, Dean," he says, giving up on trying to make Dean see sense and instead using the voice that has been ordering his son about for years without fail. "You are not raising this kid. You're not gonna toss away your life like that. We'll drop him at CPS in the morning."

Dean shifts where he's standing in front of James, and John recognises the anticipatory fighting stance easily.

"You even touch him, and I will shoot your damn kneecaps in," Dean snarls, furious, and the last time John saw him this protective over something was when they took Sammy for his first hunt and the werewolf decided to attempt an attack on the youngest Winchester, and Dean had thrown himself between them.

That encounter had ended very badly for the werewolf, John recalls.

But all of that flashes through the back of his brain, mostly unheeded, because the majority of his attention is focussed on something else entirely.

"What did you just say?" he asks, his voice a deadly whisper, and he's not aware of it but he's never sounded more dangerous before in his life.

"You heard me," Dean snarls, looking more like some kind of furious mama bear who's cub has been threatened than the twenty-two year old young man he is. "James is not going anywhere, and he's going absolutely nowhere _near_ CPS. And if you try to take him, I promise, you _will _end up injured."

"Don't you dare speak to me like that, boy – I'm your father!" John yells, too full of rage to bother being surprised about the apparent depth of Dean's feelings for the boy.

"Yeah, and blood or not, I'm his," Dean returns, utterly unyielding, "and it's my job to protect him. So I swear – you come anywhere near him..."

He lets the threat hang in the air for a long moment, his eyes hard and unapologetic, and then he turns and scoops James up into his arms. The kid is silently crying, his face pale and his huge eyes fixed on John, and Dean strokes the boy's hair as the kid flings his arms around Dean's neck and attempts to hide in the young hunter's arms.

"I'm gonna go calm him down," Dean says, glaring daggers at his father. "Don't follow us."

"Dean," John says, his voice stern. "I'm not done talking to you, don't you walk away from me. Listen to what I'm telling you: _you are not keeping this kid_. You've got your own job and your own family and he is part of neither."

"Yeah, well, you know what Dad?" Dean says, a humourless laugh leaving his lips as he glares at his father over the top of James' head. "He doesn't _have_ a family, and the only family _I've_ got are too damn busy looking after their own interests to give a crap about what I'm doing. So yeah, actually, I am keeping him."

He goes to walk out of the room, James safely ensconced in his arms, but John isn't exactly the kind of guy to let his son turn his back on him mid lecture, and he says furiously, "I said I'm not done with you yet," and strides forwards, intent on grabbing hold of Dean's shoulder and forcibly swinging him back to face him.

Only it's not Dean's shoulder he grabs, and James lets out a sharp, terrified yelp as John's hand ruthlessly grabs the kid's arm, and John doesn't even have time to let go before Dean's spinning and swinging all in one motion, and John would have been impressed were it not his nose in the line of fire.

He staggers back as his own son's fist connects with his face, and he brings his hands up to find blood. Shit – the kid's broken his damn nose!

His eyes are full of rage and shock and fury as he looks over his already blood-drenched hands at Dean, only to find his son looking utterly unrepentant.

"_Never_ touch my son again," Dean snarls, and then he and the kid are gone, and John really can't quite put his finger on the moment this whole conversation got so out of hand or when exactly Dean decided that his attachment to the kid far outweighed his respect for his father.

There's silence in the sitting room for a long moment as John holds both hands to his bleeding nose and stares after his son in shock (Dean has _never _hit him – never even come _close_ – so John was sort of expecting anything _except_ getting his nose broken by his own son), and then Bobby, who's remained silent on the couch this whole time, just watching and not interfering, snorts.

"Nicely handled, Winchester," the old hunter says, and takes a sip of his coffee.

John glances at him and shifts his weight, and he feels something crack under his boot and he glances down to realise that he's standing on the pile of pictures and crayons that he spotted earlier.

He steps backwards – off the drawings – but they're already ruined.

They've got his blood all over them.

...

**AN: There you have it – I hope the explosion that was John Winchester lived up to your expectations! Please leave a review. They're very inspirational, and inspired people update much faster than uninspired ones. **

**And, to the anonymous Confusedsonofabitch, in answer to your questions (sorry – I meant to put this in the previous chapter):**

**A jumper is a... pullover? I think that's what Americans call them? Windcheater, maybe? A jacket with no zip, basically, that's pulled over your head. Sorry – normally I make an effort to use American words instead of Australian when they're different, but I totally forgot about jumper. **

**Fairy floss is possibly the greatest food that one can buy at a fair/fete/carnival, and I'm sure you must know it under a different name because I can't imagine somewhere in the Western World **_**not**_** having Fairy Floss. It's super-finely-spun sugar, basically, and it's normally pink but it can also come in blue or purple. Here, it mostly comes wrapped around a stick and you tear it off with your teeth and stain your tongue pink, but you can also get it in pre-made packs (but they're not as good, cause they're not fresh). It's basically just sugar, really, but it's so cool. **

**And Dean got James messy and loud toys mostly because kids tend to like messy and loud toys. They were limited for what they could get at the time, because they were travelling and Dean just wanted to get stuff to help James pass the hours in the car and, while there **_**are**_** quieter and less messy toys that can be bought for kids, the ones that are best for travel tend to be noisy. Now that they're at Bobby's though Dean can extend the collection to include things like blocks and balls and such, none of which would have worked very well in the Impala. **

**Thanks so much for reading,**

**Bundi**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: *SQUEAK!* We get 7x01 in Australia tonight! For once the Aussie TV stations are actually not too far behind the 8-ball. Normally they make us wait 3 months or so. But not this time! I'm kind of beside myself with excitement. I got Merlin yesterday, and Supernatural today! I might just implode. **

**Thank you all so much for your reviews – I'm absolutely delighted you're all enjoying this so much. The feedback has been so encouraging – thank you. **

**Give You the Sun**

**Chapter Five**

"Can't believe I didn't pick something was up," John's saying, slouching at Bobby's kitchen table as he holds the bag of frozen peas to his nose (definitely broken, no doubt about it). "Kid's been shifty and evasive every time I've called for weeks now."

Bobby holds his tongue at that as he sets a pair of battered glasses on the table and sloshes some whiskey into each; refrains from pointing out that John didn't exactly make it difficult for Dean to keep James' existence a secret.

The shock of being punched in the face by his own son has somehow had the effect of calming John's temper a significant amount, but Bobby's not dumb enough to needle the man and see if the relative calm holds, so he keeps silent.

"Though I don't know why the hell _you_ didn't call me and let me know what the hell was going on, Singer," John growls, sending a glare over the top of his glass as he drains it in one hit.

"You kiddin?" Bobby asks before he can remember that he's not supposed to be irritating the man. "There ain't a monster on the planet dumb enough to get between a Winchester and his family, and I like to think I'm a damn sight smarter than most monsters."

John scoffs quietly as he reaches for the bottle of whiskey and refills his glass, being a little more generous than Bobby had been.

"That kid's not family," he says with no trace of anger in his voice; just tired assurety.

"Not by blood," Bobby counters, leaning against the sink and sipping at his drink. "But don't think I'm over statin' it when I say that your boy is just as attached to that kid as he ever was to you or Sam. Just look what happened in there if you need any proof."

John looks like he's about to argue, but as he shifts a little to glance where Bobby's pointing – into the sitting room, where not ten minutes ago Dean very nearly flattened him –the ice pack on his nose shifts a little and he grimaces and falls silent.

Bobby mentally updates the scoreboard in his head.

Singer 1: Winchester 0.

There's silence in the kitchen for a long while as John stares thoughtfully into his glass and Bobby watches John, before finally the oldest Winchester stops staring at his whiskey and chugs it down smoothly.

"_Daddy_," John quotes quietly, mostly to himself as he drops the glass back down on the bench, and then he snorts disbelievingly. "The hell was he thinkin'?"

Bobby shrugs.

"Lotta things, I reckon," the older hunter answers, even though he suspects it was a rhetorical question. "And at the same time not that much. You know he's always been the kinda guy to drop everythin' to help someone out – ever since he was little. And that trait's magnified whenever it's children in need o' help. It's just not in him to leave some poor kid stranded like James was. I mean, hell, you know him. He's got this protective streak – anyone weaker than him he feels it's his job to look out for 'em.

"Then o'course there's the fact that he knows first hand what the boy's goin' through, not only losing his mom at such a young age, but seeing it happen. Don't think there's many others that could understand what the kid's goin' through in the way that Dean can, and from what I've seen at various un-godly hours of the night, Dean knows just what the kid needs.

"Mostly though," Bobby rounds off, "I reckon he's lonely."

John's brow furrows in a frown at that as he looks up at Bobby, and the older hunter elaborates.

"He's spent his whole life with you on one side of him and Sam on the other. Everythin' else changed – schools, homes, friends – all the time, but that never did. That is, until Sam went off to college and you went off in the other direction, and suddenly the two people he's never been away from are on separate sides of the country and he's left behind by himself. He's not a guy who does well on his own, John. He needs family. And so does James. They both just… filled in each others blanks."

There's a short silence in the kitchen.

"Alright, Doctor Phil, where the hell have you stashed Bobby?" John growls, turning back to his whiskey.

Bobby snorts a chuckle and takes a sip of his own drink.

"You can think what you like, Winchester," he says, relishing in the warm feeling of the liquor sliding down his throat, "but listen to this one thing: You'd better either get used to James, or get used to a life without Dean. Cause you can believe me when I say you got a better chance of singlehandedly averting an apocalypse than you got of splittin' those two up."

...

It's a long time later that Dean hears the creak on the staircase that signals someone's approach, and he doesn't need to look to know it's John.

He's been listening for the sound of an obnoxiously loud engine roaring to life and speeding off down the gravel driveway that will signal John's fury driven departure for a while now, but it hasn't happened yet, which means that the oldest Winchester is still here.

Knowing that it's not Bobby on the staircase (because Bobby's hardly gonna come up and check on them if it means leaving an explosive John Winchester alone in his lounge room, even if all the weapons in the house _have_ been put away under lock and key), Dean gets up swiftly and says to James, "I'll be right back, ok bud?" and heads towards the door.

James has recovered from his altercation with the Winchester Patriarch – it took a decent while, but eventually Dean managed to calm him enough that the boy is now sitting cross-legged on the bed and focussing incredibly hard on the picture of the Dalmatian that he's colouring in (in purple and green, sure, but Dean doesn't reckon Pongo's likely to object).

The kid glances up at Dean as he heads out of the room and a brief flash of uncertainty crosses his face, but Dean grins at him and James relaxes a little and says "Ok, Daddy," and Dean slips out of the room and shuts the door behind him, just in time to see John reach the top step.

The older man seems surprised to find his son waiting for him, despite that he knows how alert Dean is to the goings on around him even on his down time, much less when he's spent the last three hours calming a boy who's just been terrified by the man who is – apparently – his adoptive grandfather.

There's a long, somewhat awkward silence while Dean stands protectively in front of the door shielding his son, and John loiters uncomfortably on the top step.

"What do you want, Dad?" Dean asks eventually, and there's that veiled note of threat in his voice that John suspects will take a long while to fade.

There's another stretch of silence while John tries to work out how to word this, because hell, he's never been good at this sort of thing, and having Dean glaring at him like that is hardly making him feel any more at ease with the situation.

"I want to, uh..." John says, and pauses for a moment to clear his throat. "Apologise. I want to apologise," he says quickly, as though that will make it easier, and he has the pleasure of watching Dean's eyes widen a little in surprise.

"I'm sorry," Dean says after a moment, chuckling a little. "I thought I heard you just say – "

"Don't make me say it again," John interrupts, and Dean's amused face fades into one of astonishment, and John takes advantage of his son's silence and starts talking.

"Look, I've been talking to Bobby. He told me, you know... about James and stuff. And, well, I guess I didn't really think of how you must have, you know – when Sam... . Well. I didn't think of much at all, really. And then I went and... yeah. So, I mean, I still think you're being stupid about this, and I reckon it's a bad idea, but... well. Yeah. Ok."

Dean's been listening to all of this with wide eyes and a slightly ajar jaw, and he does a bit of a double take at the last bit.

"...Ok?" he asks, apparently having followed the fragmented conversation. "As in, ok?"

John looks decidedly uncertain, and feels rather like he's going to regret this later, but he nods once, and Dean allows himself to grin a little.

"Thanks Dad," he says, and John thinks maybe he's done the right thing, if it makes his son look at him like that.

There's an awkward silence in the hall for a moment, and then Dean clears his throat a little.

"So, uh… What are you doing here, anyway?" the younger Winchester asks, looking questioningly at his dad.

"Needed to borrow Bobby's library," John answers shortly, his voice it's usual gruff tone. "Got a suspected succubus in some little town a coupla days from here, and Bobby's was on the way so I decided to drop in and top up on some research."

Dean nods his understanding and silence falls on them again.

"So, uh…" John starts, echoing Dean's exact words from a moment ago. "Can I, uh, can I meet him?"

Dean throws him a startled glance, and then looks over his shoulder for a moment at the closed door behind him.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," he hedges. "He was pretty shaken up earlier. Took me a while to calm him down."

John drops his eyes away from Dean, guilty.

"Yeah, ok," he says. "I understand."

And he does. He scared the hell out of the kid not three hours ago. If he's only just calmed down recently, John's not surprised by his own boy's reluctance to let James see the big scary man who shouted a lot just yet.

But that doesn't mean he's not disappointed.

He's spent the last three hours talking to Bobby about Dean and the kid. It took him one hour to stop dismissing the issue entirely, another hour to think about maybe accepting the situation, and a third hour was spent sitting listening to the quiet, barely distinguishable note of adoration in Bobby's voice as he talked about the boy.

Bobby hadn't stopped talking for a long time – he'd told John the full story of how James had come to be with Dean; how quiet and withdrawn the boy had been the first few weeks at Singer Salvage and the way the kid practically never let go of Dean; told him about the first time James said Daddy; told him about the way Dean's entire face lights up each time the boy smiles.

With Dean's refusal ringing loud in his ears John half turns to leave, but Dean apparently reads the disappointment in his father's face, because the younger hunter calls out, "Hang on," and John pauses and turns back to find Dean looking decidedly uncertain.

"He's… He's really had a rough time recently, and he doesn't react well to things that scare him," Dean says, a strong note of warning in his voice. "But if you were to be really careful – I'm not joking here, Dad – you'll have to be really, _really _gentle, then… I guess we could see how he goes."

John nods once, his lips curling in a tiny hint of a smile.

"I'd like that," he says.

…

**AN: Hope that was worth the wait! Life kind of got in the way of writing for a while there. **

**Some of you might think John's a little out of character, accepting Dean's decision like that, but I always saw him as a hot-headed guy who wants what's best for his family but shoots first and doesn't necessarily bother to ask questions later. Initially, when he realised what was going on with Dean and James, he reacted super harshly – the way he always reacts to anything he doesn't like – thinking that it was the worst thing Dean could possibly do for himself. But after witnessing Dean's reaction and listening to Bobby for a few hours straight, he came to realise that maybe this **_**was**_** the best thing for Dean after all.**

**And John's a stupid proud idiot, but even **_**he's**_** not stubborn enough to put his pride before his family's well-being. Hence, he has accepted what's happened. **

**Also, in the interests of continuity, James' little green jumper will continue to be called a jumper, but any other clothes of that nature that he gets I shall endeavour to call jackets/hoodies/sweaters. Lets just say the green one was made in Australia, and Dean is adhering to it's heritage by calling it a jumper. So, to the reviewer a couple of chapters back who asked if I was continuing to say jumper just to spite my American readers: no, it's just an Aussie jumper. :)**

**Next up, John meets James... properly this time. And Sammy will be coming along shortly – I estimate the chapter after next. **


	6. Chapter 6

**_Disclaimer_: I still don't own Supernatural. Also, Eliza Vender is an entirely fictional character, and any similarities between her and any real life persons is purely coincidental (I've always wanted to say that).**

**_AN_: This was originally supposed to be Chapter 7, but the Chapter 6 I was working on just WAS NOT BEHAVING. So I've tackled it from a different angle and changed this one up a bit to make it work, and now you all get Sammy a full chapter earlier than expected. **

**Also, major apologies for the long silence – I got RSI in BOTH my hands and haven't been able to type anything for a month. It's improving though, so while updates will slow, they will be coming. :)**

**_Warning_: There's a ghost in this chapter whose death was rather bizarre and a bit unpleasant, and it might turn some peoples stomachs. It's not really that gruesome at all; frankly, it's not half as bad as most of the stuff that happens in the show, but I figured I'd best warn you just in case.**

**Without further adieu: Enter Sammy Winchester, the most surprised uncle in the world.**

**...**

**Give You the Sun**

**Chapter 7**

**...**

He's waited as long as he possibly can, but it's really gone on too long already.

Initially, Sam thinks it's nothing. A few college kids high on a variety of substances, telling ghost stories in the middle of the night and freaking themselves out.

Only... the reports have been growing in number recently (and by reports, he means gossip and rumors, because no kind of authority is going to take the kids seriously enough to actually write a report when what they're saying is so incredibly outlandish), and so despite that he thinks it's nothing, Sam decides to look into it – just to put his mind at rest.

And yeah, that doesn't work quite the way he planned.

Because he's barely been in the library for more than five minutes before his breath starts coming out in misty puffs and the hair on the back of his neck stands up, and he looks up to see a girl staring down at him from over the railing on the second floor, most of her dress a pale blue except for the dark red stain on the left side of her stomach.

She doesn't do anything to him – just flickers and looks pissed and stares at him like she's vividly imagining his demise – but Sam knows that even if a ghost doesn't know how to be homicidal in the beginning that it's just a matter of time. They all work it out in the end.

And sure, he's left hunting behind, but he's not just gonna sit there and let a ghost haunt his library when he's probably the only one in this whole college who can do something about it before it gets worse.

He might be stubborn, but he's not that stubborn.

That was three days ago, and since then he's done all his research and worked out who she is, and found out everything there is to know about the girl.

Eliza Vender, nineteen, doing a Batchelor of Science and majoring in Marine Biology. Partial scholarship and living on campus with a roommate who thought she was a lovely girl, if a bit odd. Killed in the Stanford College Library seven years ago in a bizarre freak accident that made the news all over the country.

She and her boyfriend, Simon Donaldson, had snuck in there after lock-up for some alone time, apparently, and in a bizarre freak accident she'd fallen from the mezzanine to land on the signpost one floor below that pointed to where one could find the books on anatomy or psychology or biology or chemistry.

According to the boyfriend's statement, it was not long after midnight and they'd been leaning on the balcony when it had given way. He managed to keep his balance but didn't manage to catch her, and despite the paramedics working tirelessly on her for over two hours, she died at 2.37 am, still skewered by the signpost.

The time-frame explained why she only haunted the library between midnight and 2.37, and Sam thinks that maybe it was because the boyfriend failed to catch her that she's still hanging around. Maybe she blames him for not saving her?

Really though, the reason she's still around is of no consequence. Whatever her reasons for not voluntarily moving on, it's time for her to go now.

Which is what's lead Sam to his current predicament. He's tried to deal with it on his own – found out where she was buried and snuck out to salt and burn her into nonexistence – but even ghosts who haven't worked out yet how to be violent can learn pretty quickly when they're in danger of being exterminated, and it's not long before Sam finds himself limping back to his car, job not even close to finished.

It is possible that he's out of practice with this kind of thing, but since only been about six months he honestly doesn't think that's it. Frankly, he just thinks she's a vindictive bitch who had way too much fun throwing his own shovel at his head before he could even get it in the ground.

In any case, whether it's that he's out of practice or that she's just ridiculously violent, this is a two man job.

He's already tried Caleb (hunting a poltergeist in Texas) and Pastor Jim (dealing with a triple haunting in Nebraska), and when he tried Bobby it went straight through to voicemail without even ringing, so he's really only got this one option left.

He takes a deep breath and presses the call button, and then closes his eyes and brings the phone to his ear.

It rings six times before the call is picked up, and the voice that chirps down the line is _not_ the one he was expecting to hear.

"Hallow!" someone says, their voice high pitched and decidedly childlike, and Sam's eyes spring open in surprise and he pulls the phone away from his ear to check the screen.

_In Call: Dean._

Ok, no, he's definitely called the right number.

For some reason, a child is answering Dean's phone.

"Uh... hi," Sam says, putting the phone back to his ear and trying to work out what's going on. "Who's this?"

"James!" the kid says, taking great delight in announcing his name.

"Hi James," Sam says, his tone a precarious balance between cheerful friendliness and total befuddlement. "My name's Sam. James, I was wondering – the man who's phone this is. Is he around?"

"Daddy?" the kid asks, and Sam blinks blankly and says, "Huh?" and then there's a voice in the background on the kid's end of the line and Sam doesn't get any further chance to work out what the hell the boy's talking about.

"James, there you are, bud!" Dean says cheerfully, and Sam's distantly aware of his jaw hanging slack as his brain struggles to work out what on earth is happening. "I've been lookin' everywhere for you. And – aha! You've got my phone! I thought I'd find the two of you in the same spot."

It's clear that Dean doesn't realize yet that there's a person on the other end of the line, and Sam hears James cheerfully inform him.

"I'm talking," the kid says proudly, and Dean chuckles a little.

"I can see that. Who to?" he asks, and Sam knows that Dean thinks the kid is imaginary-talking, not _talking_ talking.

"Talking to Sam!" James announces, and there's a short silence from Dean.

"To Sam?" he asks blankly, and then his voice gets a bit louder as he moves closer to the boy and the phone. "You know," he says in a voice of forced cheer, "I haven't spoken to Sam in ages! Can I talk to him for a bit?"

"Yes, Daddy," James says easily, and there are some muffled sounds as the phone changes hands, and then Sam's brother is there.

"Sam?" Dean asks, sounding cautious and surprised. "That you?"

"Yeah it's me. Who the hell was that?" Sam asks, skipping niceties and launching straight into it, and there's a brief hesitation before Dean answers, a tiny thread of warning in his voice.

"That was James," the older Winchester says simply, and Sam can tell by the clipped answer that Dean's not gonna be particularly forthcoming with information and Sam's gonna have to pry it out of him.

"Why's he calling you Daddy?" the youngest Winchester demands, refusing to acknowledge what's slapping him in the face until Dean confirms it.

There's a dry silence for half a second, and then Dean says flatly, "Really, Sam?" and that irritated _You__are__such__a__moron_ tone is confirmation enough, and Sam swells in anger.

"You're his _Dad?__"_ he yells, and then continues before Dean has the chance to respond. "What the _hell_Dean? A _son_? Damn it, I knew you could be an idiot, but I honestly thought you were smarter than that! What the hell happened to 'No glove, no love," huh? I can't believe you! You drill into me how important all that is – so that _this_ situation would never happen – and then you go and break your own damn rules! I've been gone for, what, six months, and you've gone and been dumped with the product of a one night stand!"

"Calm down, College Boy, and give me a chance to speak if you wanna find out what's going on," Dean growls, jumping in when Sam takes a breath and sounding decidedly pissed. "Firstly, he's an adopted son, not a 'product of a one night stand,' as you so nicely put it. How 'bout you hear what the deal is before you go jumping to all the wrong conclusions."

Sam blinks in surprise.

"Adopted?" he asks, as though he can't quite link the concept of adopting kids to his _Wherever__the__wind__may__take__me_ brother. "You adopted a kid?"

"Yeah, Sam, I adopted a kid," Dean says shortly, nothing but truth and irritation in his voice.

"Why?" Sam blurts out bluntly, his head still not quite (read: not at all) wrapped around the concept.

"Cause it makes me feel like an A-Lister celebrity," Dean throws back without pause, the irritated tone still very present.

"When...?" Sam asks, trailing off.

"When did I adopt him?" Dean asks, not sure why he's so pissed at his little brother but not bothering to hold back. "'Bout two months after you up and left us for the world of normal. Four months ago."

Then again, maybe he's pissed because Sam up and left them for the world of normal and hasn't spoken to him in six months. Yeah, that might be it.

"Four months...? You've had a kid for four months and you didn't tell me?" Sam demands, a vague tone of hurt in his voice.

"Tell you?" Dean repeats, anger in his incredulous voice. "How exactly did you want me to tell you, Sam? Did you want me to leave a message some time between the dial-tone and the _Sorry, __this __jackass __has __rejected __your __call __and __no __you __can__'__t __even __leave __a __voicemail_? Or maybe you wanted me to send you a letter to the address that you didn't give me? Or should I have sent an email, maybe, to the address you don't check any more? I'm a _Dad,_ Sammy – I would have loved to tell you. You didn't exactly make it easy."

Sam doesn't quite know how to respond to that one, so after an awkward pause he says, "Well… where are you living? I really hope your answer is not the Impala..."

Dean snorts a little. "No, Child Protection Services, we're not living in the Impala. We've pretty much moved into Bobby's. Don't think he was pleased about it at the start, but I know him. We've grown on him. He'd be gutted if we left."

"You're with Bobby?" Sam asks blankly. "I called him – it went straight through to voicemail. Where's his phone?"

"Oh, yeah, James was playing with it for a while and the battery's totally dead. I found it down the back of the couch about fifteen minutes ago – it's charging now. Seems the kid likes technology."

There's a fondness in Dean's voice when he talks of James that's impossible to miss, and this is definitely the most bizarre conversation Sam's ever had. It's almost like a dream; he keeps asking questions and getting answers, but absolutely none of it feels real. He feels like he's gonna wake up after falling asleep on his research to find he hasn't even called Dean yet, and he'll call him and Dean will answer with his usual 'Yeah, Dean,' and there will be no kid and his brother won't be a dad.

"How on earth did you convince Dad to let you adopt a kid?" he asks, and it feels like his mouth is asking questions all on its own, cause his brain certainly isn't caught up enough on recent events to be leading the charge here.

Dean's silence is loud, and Sam's expression turns incredulous.

"Dad does _know_, doesn't he?"

"Yeah he knows," Dean answers, his voice that too bright, too carefree tone that he uses when he's hiding something. "_Now_..."

Sam's gobsmacked.

"You adopted a kid and you didn't tell Dad? What the hell were you thinking?"

"You know, that's exactly what he asked me when he found out. Only he said it a lot louder."

"_Dean!" _

Sam can _hear_ Dean's unrepentant shrug through the phone.

"No, I didn't tell him," Dean says, a slight hint of belligerence to his voice. "I had James for about two months before he found out. Woulda been longer too, only Dad decided Bobby's place would be the best place to come for some research and neglected to call ahead. Totally busted us."

"What happened?" Sam asks, wide eyed.

Dean laughs a little – the humourless kind.

"Well, he wasn't overly cheerful about the whole thing, that's for sure. But I convinced him in the end that James is best off with me. He even took a liking to him once he got used to the idea of being a Grandpa. Seems like no one's immune to this kid's charms."

Sam knows Dean's left a hell of a lot out of that very brief rendition of what happened, but he can hear it in Dean's voice that that's all he's getting for now, so he resolves to get it out of his brother later and for now pushes aside the woozy feeling he gets upon hearing that his dad – that _The_ John Winchester – is a _Grandpa_, and he asks another of his multitude of questions.

"Why _is_ he with you, actually? How come you adopted him? Why didn't he go to a normal family? And how on earth did _you_ get approval to adopt someone?"

Dean snorts again. "Let's just say that I was the best option, and leave it at that."

So now Sam's thinking that maybe James was the son of some hunter that Dean was working with who got killed on the job. Maybe that's why Dean's raising him – because the kid's real dad died on a hunt with Dean and now he feels guilty.

That thought leads to another question.

"What do you do with him when you go hunting?" he asks, and his brother's answer surprises him.

"Don't go hunting," Dean replies simply. "Or, well, I've sort of started again recently, but only little jobs that aren't too dangerous and that aren't too far away. He doesn't deal well when I'm not around, so I can't be gone for more than a day, and it would be a really bad idea for me to go and get myself killed on a job. I've done practically no hunting since I adopted him."

"You're… not hunting?" Sam asks, flabbergasted by the concept of trigger-happy Dean _actively_ choosing not to shoot fuglies. The only times Sam can recall Dean not hunting was when he was couch-bound with an injury, and even then he always went a little crazy within three days and was back out there far earlier than recommended.

Dean snorts. Again. He's doing rather a lot of that at the moment.

"'S what I said, Sammy," he answers, and Sam can hear the layer of amusement. "So what d'ya call for? Finally realised how sucky college life is and decided to ditch the professors and come home?"

Sam doesn't rise to that – doesn't respond with the fact that, actually, college life is fantastic and amazing and everything he's ever wanted, thank you very much. Doesn't point out that they don't _have_ a home for him to come back to, and isn't that half the reason he left in the first place?

Because he knows that no matter what he says, Dean's gonna hate the sound of college life and everything it entails. And he knows that Dean's never had a problem with their homeless existence; to Dean, home is where his family is, and if that's in a crappy motel or in an old car that's nearly 30 years old, well that's fine.

"Actually, no," he says, instead of saying all that he's actually feeling. "I, uh… I need your help with something. A hunt."

He can just _see_ Dean's reaction.

First, the surprised eyebrow lift and slight widening of his eyes. Second, the intrigued upward tilt of his jaw. Third, and most irritating, the smug smirk and amused expression.

"See Sammy," Dean says, with that _tone_ that just makes Sam want to tell him to shut up. "You can take the boy outta the life…"

"Yeah, ok, whatever," Sam interrupts with irritation. "Look, it's not like I want to be doing this, ok, but I'm not exactly gonna let a ghost roam about my library when she's probably about one month away from working out how to kill people. And it's a two man job, and everyone else is busy, so I need your help, alright?"

There's a pause.

"Everyone else is busy, huh?" Dean asks eventually, his tone striving for casualness. He falls just short of hiding the hurt in his voice. "So I'm your last port of call for assistance on a hunt. Good to know."

Sam runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. He didn't mean to upset Dean, really, it's just... ugh. Dean and Dad... they're part of the life he's chosen to leave behind – more so than Caleb and Pastor Jim and Bobby. If the other guys helped him out with this, they'd do the job and that would be that. If Dean or Dad help him out... he can't help but feel like it's putting one foot back in the door that he thought he'd closed behind him for good. So that's why Dean was his second-to-last resort.

"Not last," Sam says, trying to rectify the hurt he's just lumped on Dean. "I didn't even try Dad."

"Oh, wow," Dean replies, sarcastic. "So I'm one ahead of Dad on your list. Well that's sure saying a lot, considering that last time you were in the same room as him you said you never wanted to see him again."

Ok, clearly that didn't work the way he planned.

"Look, Dean," Sam says, huffing a little in frustration. "I really don't have time for this - can we move on? There's a ghost haunting my library, and I need your help, ok, so just... come and help me out. Please."

He can tell that Dean's unhappy about this – that he's hurt that his little brother tried calling everyone else before trying him; hurt that he's second-to-last on the kid's list of who to go to for help – but he's still Dean, and so far he's never been able to deny Sam anything that he really needs.

"Yeah, Sammy," he sighs. "I'll come."

Sam's shoulders sag in relief.

"Thank you," he says, wholeheartedly meaning it.

"I'll start getting packed – text me your address and we'll head out of here in forty minutes or so."

"We?" Sam asks, blinking.

"Me and James," Dean responds, and Sam's brows pull down.

"You're bringing him with you?" he asks, disapproving. "On a hunt?"

"No," Dean says, impatient and vaguely irritated. "I'm taking him with me on a visit to my ungrateful little brother. And while we're visiting you at your fancy new college flat, I'll dash off for an hour to salt and burn someone and be back before he's even missed me."

"Wouldn't he be better off if you left him with Bobby?" Sam asks, really not agreeing with his brother's line of thinking. It sounds way too similar to what Dad used to do with them for him to like the sound of it.

"Sam, did you miss the part where I said he doesn't deal well without me?" Dean asks impatiently. "Look – I don't really have a choice here; I can't leave him behind, and I can't leave you to deal with this ghost on your own. So just leave it, and make sure there are two beds ready for us when we get there, ok?"

Sam can spot an argument well lost, and so he sighs unhappily.

"Alright, fine," he agrees, slightly moodily.

"Ok – we'll get packed and head out," Dean says, all business now. "I recommend you buy some juice. And I want pie on arrival. And there's no excuse for not having it ready either – you've got a full week's warning."

"A week?" Sam asks, surprised. "The trip from Bobby's to here should take three days, max. Even less, with you at the wheel. Why so long?"

Dean chuckles.

"You try keeping a three year old entertained in a carseat for more than three hours, Sammy, and tell me how you go. Right, I'll go get our stuff together now – I'll call you when we're on the road and you can tell me all you know about this chick."

"When you're on the road?" Sam asks, the slight alarm clear in his voice. "Maybe you should call me when you're taking a break instead. Did you know that using a cell phone when driving can increase the likelihood an accident by – "

"Calm down, Mr Statistic," Dean interrupts. "I've got a hands-free. I'll talk to you in an hour or so, Uncle Sammy."

And with that, he hangs up, leaving Sam to blink blankly at his phone and wonder if he just dreamt that entire exchange.

And then Dean's last words register with him.

"…_Uncle __Sammy?__"_

…

**AN: And there we have it! Again – I do apologise for the wait; it totally wasn't supposed to be that long. Hope you enjoyed! Next up, we're back with Dean while he and James travel to meet the wonderful (if still rather shocked) Uncle Sammy. **

**Bundi**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: James is mine, but all other recognisable characters belong to the creators of Supernatural. **

**AN: *Hides behind the Impala and waves an update like a flag of truce***

**I'm sorry! I'm _really, really_ sorry - I honestly did not mean for there to be such a huge, gigantic lag between chapters – it just... vanished so quickly! I blinked and went "Holy crap it's been 6 months!" I don't suppose, maybe, giving you Sam will help you on your way to forgiveness...? *Shoves Sam out from behind the Impala* **

**Ladies and Gentlemen, Uncle Sammy Winchester, in the (onscreen) flesh!**

**(Thanks to Nyx Ro for the Duplo idea – I loved it! I'd originally written them bonding over Playdoh, but I liked your idea better! And THANK YOU everyone who reviewed! I so appreciate it!)**

**...**

**Give You the Sun**

**Chapter 7**

**...**

1,140-ish miles, five days and countless potty-breaks later, and James is sound asleep as Dean pulls up outside the address Sam gave him before they left Bobby's.

"Not bad, little brother," Dean says to himself approvingly, looking through the windscreen up at the large block of apartments in front of him.

It's nothing fancy. In fact, by most other people's standards, the building would look pretty average, but Dean's stayed in some seriously shoddy places before and this? This isn't shoddy. Not to mention that Sam's only been at College six months and he's already managed to get himself some proper accommodation, so yeah. Dean's impressed.

And slightly nervous. But he's not going to acknowledge that feeling. It's bad enough that it's been six-and-a-bit months since he last saw his brother; he's not going to make it awkward by being nervous. Besides, if _he's_ nervous, James will pick up on it and then the kid'll be nervous too, and nervous-James meeting new people ends with the kid hiding in Dean's neck so – in short – this will all go a lot smoother if Dean just swallows his emotions and doesn't let them show.

Looking away from the big block of apartments, Dean glances over at James and doesn't bother trying to stop the soft smile that steals across his features.

The three year old is sitting slumped in his carseat, sound asleep and dead to the world, his head lolling to the side, mouth hanging ever so slightly open and his tiger (the small one – the big one is stretched out across the back seat) gripped loosely in his hand.

He looks utterly, ridiculously adorable, and Dean can't help the warm, undeniably fuzzy feeling that rushes through him at the sight. It's a rather frequent occurrence now, this warm flooding fondness, and it's at times like this that Dean registers how completely and utterly far gone he is for this kid. _His_ kid.

Still smiling softly, Dean opens his door and slips out of the car, then heads around to the boot to fetch James' bag. The boy's duffle is just as big as Dean's, amazingly, but Dean attributes that to all the books and toys that are stuffed in there with the clothes. It's kind of hard to travel light when you've got a tiny child who needs near-constant entertainment sitting shotgun.

The young hunter shoulders James' bag easily and lets the trunk fall shut, leaving his own duffle in there for later collection, and heads back to the passenger side door to fetch James.

The kid hasn't stirred once through all the openings and closings of classic old doors, and Dean grins a little to himself. The boy's a natural traveller; he's taken to long car trips like an old pro, sleeping for half the time and cheerfully entertaining himself for the rest.

That being said, the hour-long stopover they had at a park a short while ago might have helped with the kid's current state of dead-to-the-world. There were pigeons, and pigeons that fly when you run at them are incredibly fun to play with, and an hour solid of non-stop running is sure to put any kid down for a seriously decent nap.

Opening the door and leaning in, Dean makes short work of the clips and buckles keeping James in the seat, then does this awkward manoeuvre that he's very nearly perfected that ends with no bumped heads, a bag still on one shoulder, the car door shut, and the still-asleep child's head resting against his neck with his arms hanging limp, one in front and one down Dean's back.

Locking his baby girl behind him, the hunter sets off, James still sound asleep and floppy against him; a solid, comforting weight in Dean's arms as he puts his game face on.

This is a business trip, he has to remind himself as he walks towards the building. Business. Sammy hadn't called him for six months and the only reason he's called now is because there's a job that needs more than one person to complete. And after this, Dean can only assume that they'll go straight back to the whole "no contact of any description" thing they've had going on for half a year, because there sure hasn't been anything so far to suggest otherwise.

It's just a business trip.

And sure, that stings a little, but Dean's not gonna think about that. He's gonna go in there with James, and his kid is gonna wow his Uncle Sammy, and they'll get the job done and be outta there before the older Winchester can remember how much he likes Sam's company, and how these last six months have been so much lonelier than they should have been, and how much more awesome everything would be if he still had his little brother riding shotgun in his car as they drive across the country.

Dean'll ignore all that, because he's got James now.

And yeah, James is no Sam, but Dean's not interested in replacing Sam anyway, so that's fine.

James is a million kinds of awesome all by himself, and he's Dean's, and he's not going anywhere, and that's enough.

Five flights of stairs later and Dean's a little puffed (you try carrying a kid and a packed-to-bursting duffle up five sets of stairs without breaking a sweat), and then Sam's number 4 is looming in front of him, and Dean doesn't give himself time to think before he knocks (light enough not to wake James, but loud enough to alert Sam) on the door.

A couple of seconds pass before the door springs open and... and that's not Sam.

"Hi," the guy-who-is-not-Sam says (quietly, upon noticing the child asleep in Dean's arms) as he grins welcomingly. "Dean, yeah?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean says, slightly wary. And this dude knows his name how...?

"Sam said you were coming – I'm Brady; Sam's flatmate."

Ah. That makes sense. Dean's hackles go down a bit.

"Come on in – do you need hand with any of that?" Brady continues amicably, holding out his hand in an offer to take the duffle off Dean.

"Nah, I got it, thanks," Dean says easily, stepping into the small apartment and glancing around.

Inside, the apartment is nothing special, but it's not too shabby either. The front door opens up right into the lounge, where there's a beaten-up looking couch in front of an old-but-working TV set, as well as a big, dark green bean-bag. The kitchen and lounge are separated by a breakfast-bar bench, and while the kitchen itself is pretty small it appears perfectly functional. There's no dining table – just a small two-seater table hovering in the no-man's land between the counter and the lounge room that's probably used more for studying at than for eating at.

Dean's just about to head over to the couch and lay down his loads (duffle to the floor and three-year-old to the cushions), but then a door opens up down the skinny hallway alongside the kitchen and Sam comes out, clearly fresh outta the shower (hair still dripping and clothes obviously hastily pulled on) and with one of those expressions on his face that is so purely _Sam_ that it kind of makes Dean's heart clench a little.

His brother looks earnest and nervous and wary and curious and a whole range of other emotions that shouldn't be able to fit on one face at the same time, but somehow do. He pulls up at the sight of Dean and James, apparently a little startled to see his brother standing next to his couch with an armful of sleeping-kid, and there's silence for a moment.

"Hey Sammy," Dean says after a beat, breaking the not-yet-but-soon-will-be-awkward silence. "Nice place."

Sam's silent for another half second as he tries to work out whether Dean's being sarcastic or not, but when he detects only sincerity in the gruff voice he glances about, a little self-conscious.

"Thanks," he says, before his eyes are drawn back to James. "So… that him?" he asks, gesturing towards the kid hanging floppily from Dean's shoulder, and Dean quirks an amused grin.

"Nah," he quips. "This is the _other_ kid I adopted. Picked him up between the car and your front door."

"Funny, Dean," Sam says, clearly unamused, and Dean snorts a little.

"Yeah, this is James," he says, twisting his head a little so he can see James' face. Kid's still out cold, his dark hair flopping over his face and the threat of drool gathering in the corner of his mouth.

"So, I'm gonna… head out," Brady says suddenly from behind Dean, and Dean had kind of forgotten he was there.

"Oh, uh, sure," Sam says, glancing at his flatmate. "D'you need me to save any dinner, or are you good?"

"Nah, don't worry about it – I'll grab something while I'm out," Brady replies cheerfully, pulling his jacket off the hook on the wall. "I'm meeting Dave and Michael anyhow, and those guys eat practically constantly."

Sam chuckles at that and Brady grabs his wallet up from the table just inside the door, waves to the brothers and disappears into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

There's silence in the apartment for a moment, but James is starting to get seriously heavy in Dean's arms so he ignores Sam's open-but-silent curiosity and makes his way over to the couch, dumps the duffle at one end, then lays James carefully down on the cushions. The kid grumbles a little and shifts around, disturbed by the movement and loss of Dean's warmth, and Dean shucks quickly out of his jacket and lays it over the boy. James settles quickly, sighing contentedly, his shaggy hair peeking out from under the collar of Dean's jacket, and the hunter's lips quirk up without his permission.

"He's so young," Sam says quietly, and Dean glances up to find him looking at the kid a sadly.

"Yeah," Dean agrees, looking back down at his son. Only three, and he's already been through so much. More, arguably, than Dean and Sam themselves went through with Mary. They only lost one person. James lost three.

"You look tired," Sam says, and Dean glances up again and offers a tired smile.

"Yeah, well, a nightmare-prone, hyperactive three year old and a five-day drive'll do that to ya," he says lightly, and leads the way into the kitchen. "So you gonna give me a beer or what?"

…

It's just over half an hour later that James rouses, and by that time the brothers have managed to kind of get past the awkward pauses and loud silences and get down to business, and Dean now knows the whole story about Stanford's resident ghost and Sam knows the whole story about James (and he's still far from convinced that Dean's the right person to be playing Daddy to an orphaned kid, but he knows his brother well enough to recognise the stubborn dedication he has for his self-imposed role and knows that now's not the right time to try talking sense into his fool of a big brother, so he'll try later instead).

They've stayed well clear of potentially argument-inducing topics such as Stanford and Dad and leaving-versus-staying, and they're discussing their game plan for taking out dear dead Eliza when there's a sleepy "D'ddy…?" from the couch, and Dean leans back in his chair and calls, "Behind you, buddy – in the kitchen."

James' rumpled head appears over the back of the couch a moment later and he smiles sleepily at Dean, but when he spots the second man in the kitchen he gets this wary, uncertain expression on his face and leans back a little.

"Hey there, Sir Sleepalot," Dean grins. "Come over here – I got someone for you to meet."

James hesitates, but Daddy's grinning cheerfully and Daddy's sitting next to the unknown man and James knows Daddy always looks after him, so he glances again at the stranger and clambers cautiously down from the couch.

Sam's looking nervous all over again and James is still looking wary as he makes his way slowly to the kitchen, and they both have such similar expressions that Dean kind of laughs at them a little.

James finally comes within reaching distance and Dean swoops him up easily, plonks the kid on his lap and says, "You remember a few days ago at Uncle Bobby's, where you talked to a guy called Sam on my phone? And then we started driving so we could go visit him?"

James pauses for a moment and nods silently, his body turned into Dean but his whole wary attention fixed on the younger Winchester.

Sam's staring back, just as nervous but with a good helping of curiosity as he inspects the little boy that Dean's holding with such easy familiarity and protectiveness.

"Well, this is him," Dean continues. "James, meet your Uncle Sammy. Uncle Sammy, James."

"Hey James," Sam says cheerfully, managing not to sound as nervous as Dean knows he is and smiling at his – and how weird is this thought – nephew. "It's great to finally meet you."

James turns the rest of the way around and buries his face in Dean's chest, then peeks one eye out to keep Sam in his sight, much to Dean's amusement.

"Aren't you gonna say hi?" the older Winchester asks, laughter in his voice.

James hesitates, his eyes not leaving Sam, and then there's a muffled sound that might be that of a shy three-year-old mumbling a 'Hi' into his dad's shirt, and then he tucks his face away again.

"Me and him are brothers," Dean explains, ignoring James' shyness and attempting to draw him out. "We grew up together."

James considers this for a moment, then leans back enough that he can look up at Dean.

"Like me an' Sarah?" he asks, and Dean's smile fades into something sad as he thinks about James' lost sister.

"Yeah, kid," he says softly, reaching a hand up to ruffle James' hair gently and pull the boy's head in for a quick kiss to the temple. "Like you and Sarah."

Sam blinks in surprise at the easy affection Dean's showering the kid with. For some reason, he'd expected Dean to be kind of awkward with James – expected him to be a little stand-offish, and to not really know how to act with the three year old. Which doesn't make sense, Sam knows, because Dean was nothing if not the most awesome (if sometimes infuriating and always secretly affectionate) older brother on the planet, but somehow Sam didn't expect that natural awesomeness to extend to other kids too.

He's being shown otherwise though, with each new action Dean makes; the way he comfortably swung James up into his lap earlier; the way both of them look totally at ease as though this kind of contact is both frequent and welcomed; the way Dean didn't even think before pressing a comforting kiss to the kid's temple and tightening his arms around him at the mention of the sister; the way James is leaning back into Dean as though the hunter is the safest port he knows.

It's… unexpected. Certainly not unwelcome, but just… unexpected.

"Hey, James," he says, figuring that now's as good a time as any, and the kid looks over to him warily and leans into Dean again. "I have something for you. Will you wait here while I get it?"

The boy glances at Dean, looking to the hunter for guidance, but Dean's looking curiously at Sam.

"You've got something for him?" he asks, sounding curious, surprised and confused all at the same time, and Sam's cheeks colour a little.

"Yeah, well," he says, sounding self-conscious. "I wanted to get him something but I didn't know what he'd like, so I asked someone for some ideas, and… yeah. He should like it. I mean – it's for kids aged between 2 and 6 so…"

Dean's got this surprised little smile on his face now, and Sam trails off, kind of embarrassed at the depth of emotion he can read in Dean's expression.

"Thanks Sammy," the older Winchester says warmly, and this is clearly one of those 'more than the sum of its parts' situations, because Sam just wanted to buy a present for his new nephew and really didn't think it was that much of a big deal, but it's evident that the gesture means a _lot_ to Dean.

He shoots a quick self-conscious smile at Dean and says, "Just… stay put for a second," and gets up, moving quickly to his room where he left the present before this turns into any more of a chick flick moment (because seriously, it's just a present – intended to break the inevitable ice between him and a three-year-old he's never met before – but Dean's acting like it's more than that, or something, (despite the fact that it's the older Winchester who professes to hate hick flick moments) so Sam's getting out of there before this gets any more – perish the word – _emotional.)_

Sam's never been good with paper and Sellotape so the wrapping is a bit dodgy, but Jess (girlfriend of four months in a week and the one who's going to baby-sit James while the brothers go a-diggin') assured him that a three-year-old's not going to care about the quality of the wrapping so much as what's _under_ the wrapping.

The paper is blue with red trucks on it because that seemed like a safe guess for a young boy, and judging by the way James' eyes light up at the sight of the parcel, Sam made the right call.

The kid glances at Dean once more when Sam holds the gift out to him, and it's only when Dean nods encouragingly that James reaches out and gently takes the present.

The wrapping doesn't get quite the same delicate treatment, however, and it's only a few seconds before it's been shredded in true paper-demolishing tradition, and then James is holding the large colourful box in his hands and his eyes are lighting up at what he sees.

"Duplo?" Dean asks, peering over James' shoulder and inspecting the box with almost as much curiosity as the kid.

"It's Lego," Sam explains, "but chunkier. It's basically the younger-kid version of normal Lego – bigger and stuff, so it's easier for little kids to handle."

"Awesome – he doesn't have any Lego," Dean grins. "Thanks Sammy. James – whaddya say to Uncle Sammy?"

James looks up from the pictures on the box of chunky blue castles with fat red-and-yellow towers to glance shyly up through his fringe at Sam and practically whisper, "Thanks 'ncle Sammy," before ducking his head again and letting his fringe hide his eyes.

"We gonna sit here lookin' at the box, or do you want me to open it for you and we can get building?" Dean asks, grinning at his (seriously way too adorable) kid, and James smiles a little and shoves the box in Dean's direction.

An hour later the three of them are sitting on the floor in front of the couch with the over-sized Lego pieces scattered all around them in various states of construction.

"That's a serious tower you've got growing there, kid," Dean says, looking up from his Great Wall of Dean to find James reaching up to add a fat red brick to the tower that's already nearly taller than him.

" 'ncle Sammy helped," James says, and indeed, Sam's steadying hands holding the tower still are probably the only things keeping it upright as gravity and less-than-stellar architecture try to bring it down.

The boy has loosened up a little around Sam in the last hour and is timidly interacting with him now – asking him to pass the blue block, please (that last bit tacked on after a bit of prompting from Dean), and telling him that all the reds are supposed to stay together and no he can't add a green into the bridge. Sammy's starting to relax too, now that he's realised that the three year old isn't as intimidating as he was expecting, and he's doing nerdy Sammy-things like suggesting to James that they add trebuchets to the top of towers and build moats out of blue blocks around the castle base, "Because a moat is one of the best defences a castle can have," apparently.

There's still a little awkwardness between the two of them, notable in James' still-shy quietness and the slightly forced kiddy-voice that Sam's employing, but Dean knows that the awkwardness will fade rather quickly. In fact, Dean's got a mental bet on how long it takes before James is climbing all over Sam's Sasquatch frame demanding horsie rides.

Bobby folded in four days, Dean remembers, grinning at the mental image of Bobby crawling around on all fours with James giggling on his back, and that only took so long because James was still rather chronically reclusive in those early days and didn't trust Bobby.

James has come along in leaps and bounds in his confidence now though, and Dean reckons Sam's not gonna last a day.

The knock on the door interrupts James' focus, and the red block he'd nearly got in place tumbles to the ground to a chorus of "Ohh, no!"s from Dean's kid and Dean's brother both, and the hunter can't help the amused grin that quirks his lips up.

"I got it," he says, abandoning his Lego-wall as he grins and clambers to his feet. "Don't think that'd keep standing if you let it go Sammy."

Sam shoots a grin up at Dean and then returns his focus to the tower, where James is attempting Take Two of Operation Red Block.

They've made an absolute mess of the lounge room in the short time they've been here, and Dean has to pick his way around the widely-scattered Duplo pieces and abandoned shoes and jackets before he reaches the door and pulls it open.

The blonde on the other side of the door is a stunner, that's for sure, and as soon as she's not looking Dean's gonna give his brother a huge thumbs-up for managing to snag such a beauty.

"Jess?" he asks, even though she's not likely to be anyone else. Sam's told him all about her – this amazing girl he's been seeing for nearly four months and she's gorgeous and the most incredible girl he's ever met and so help me Dean, if you do anything to screw it up… – and it was Sam's idea that she be the one to look after James while Dean and Sam go out for catch-up drinks. And by catch-up drinks, they of course mean grave-digging. But Dean has a distinct feeling that telling this Jess girl what catch-up drinks translates to would most definitely fall under the 'screw it up' category, and he's perfectly happy for her to not the details anyway, so he doesn't bother protesting the white lie.

"You must be Dean," Jess says by way of answer, holding her hand out and beaming, and holy crap the chick's even more gorgeous when she's smiling. "Sam's told me all about you."

Dean shakes her hand and smiles, "Well I now can see why Sam never _stopped_ talking about you."

It's true – his brother mentioned her at least once every single time he talked to Dean as the hunter and James were road-tripping their way across the country towards California. And normally Dean wouldn't even consider leaving James with someone he didn't know and hadn't had the chance to veto, but Sam had vouched for her (more than once, once the younger Winchester picked up on Dean's hesitation), and Sam's word is good enough for Dean.

Well. Mostly. He's still planning on making sure she gets a silver fork at dinner, just to make sure, and he was proud to note earlier that Sam's subtly vandalised the apartment enough that there's a line of salt filling every chiselled-out line across each door and window. It's somewhat settling to know that just because Sammy's gone all civilian doesn't mean he's gone stupid.

And silver and salt have an effect on almost all creatures, so as long as this Jess chick passes those tests, Dean's happy to leave James with her for a few hours.

Jess laughs cheerfully at the hardly-veiled compliment as she steps into the apartment hassle-free (so that's a Pass on the salt test), the grocery bags in her hands full to the brim and swinging around in time to her movements.

"And now I can see why Sam warned me about you!" she laughs, and Dean grins as he shuts the door behind her.

Jess heads towards the lounge and Dean makes to follow her, but she draws to a surprised halt at the scene that greets her and Dean pulls up sharply to avoid crashing into her.

The sight of Sam sprawled on his stomach amidst scattered pieces of Duplo as he holds up a Leaning Tower of Lego (now with a red block firmly in place on the top) as James strains to add a yellow piece makes Jess give a delighted laugh, which successfully attracts both their attention.

"I didn't know you were a builder, Sam," Jess laughs, and Sam grins up at her.

"Builder, baker, candlestick maker… I'm all of those things," he says, mock-proudly, and Jess laughs at him before turning her attention to the three-year-old staring warily up at her from his place amongst the Lego.

"And you must be James," she says, smiling at him and dropping to her knees as she talks to him.

James looks at her uncertainly, leaning away but not running away, and Jess keeps smiling cheerfully at him as she rummages in one of her bags.

"I have something for you, but I think he's a bit shy," she says, looking up at James seriously. "Do you think you could help me convince him to come out?"

James looks from Jess to Dean and Dean, though he doesn't know what Jess has got and is kind of surprised by her generosity, nods encouragingly to his kid.

"He was really excited to meet you before we got here," Jess continues, peering into her bag as though looking through the ferns in a forest, "but he got all shy when we got to the door. Maybe if you help him out of the bag he'll remember how excited he was before."

And wow, Dean's really hoping this isn't a kitten or something, because he's not sure Bobby'll allow a cat in the house to sleep all over his precariously-stacked books and mess his piles of paper. He'd be surprised if this Jess chick had gone and bought his kid a kitten without checking with Dean first, but hey – it's not like he knows her. Maybe she's the kitten-buying-without-permission kind?

The young woman in question has successfully captured James' attention with her 'mystery visitor' enough that the kid's wariness has weakened. He creeps forward cautiously and – with one final glance up at Dean to make sure it's ok – peers into the bag.

His eyes light up, and he looks up at Jess with a delightedly surprised expression before he reaches into the bag to pull whatever it is out.

(And seriously, Dean _really _hopes it's not a kitten.)

The stuffed tiger that emerges from the bag is medium-sized – larger than the smallish one that's been James' companion since day one but far smaller than the life-sized one Dean won for him at the fair, and it's evident that this newest toy is going to become just as much a part of James' daily life as the other two already are.

"How did you know tigers were his favourite?" Dean laughs, rather impressed.

Jess looks surprised.

"I didn't," she says, glancing up at him. "It was just the cutest one in the pile."

Dean laughs again at the happy fluke as James runs his fingers lovingly over the orange and black fur, a huge smile on his face.

"Well I think you've got a new best friend," Sam grins as James looks up from the tiger to Jess with a beaming smile, not a hint of wariness or hesitation left on his face. "Clearly all I needed to do to skip the awkward-stranger stage was bribe him with a stuffed tiger."

Dean chuckles, cause it's true. Bringing a friendship offering of a toy tiger was the best thing Jess could have done, and suddenly Dean doesn't feel at all concerned about leaving James with her for a few hours. He has a feeling that they're gonna get on brilliantly.

…

**AN: I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that it at least partially made up for the wait! It was a LONG one. Next up: the hunt, some more adorable Dean-James moments, and more Sam and Jess. And I shall endeavour to get Chapter 8 up _much_ faster than I got 7 up….. **

**Just a hint… reviews are very inspirational!**

**Also – for those of you reading my Merlin fic, _Farmers, and Fields Full of Potatoes_ – the next chapter _is_ coming. ...Slowly. (Sorry!) But have you all seen the NEW TRAILER?! :D The people at work thought I was having a heart attack I was so excited! **

**Bundi**


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